Reminiscence and Reverie
by 12VelvetWhispers
Summary: A collection of One Piece drabbles, one-shots, and challenge fics. Multiple pairings, though mostly Zoro/Sanji, spanning the series.
1. Paradox

**AN**: Okay, so this is the beginning of a collection of drabbles/one shots/challenges for One Piece pairings. They will probably end up being mostly Zoro/Sanji, but there will be others as well. I hope to encourage all of you that visit to submit any requests that you might have for any one shots or drabbles that you want to read. I don't know how long I'm going to make this, but I think I'm going to shoot for somewhere around 30. How does that sound?

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Rating: R/MA

Warning: adult content, yaoi, language

Timeline: anytime after Sanji joins the crew

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~***Paradox***~

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Life was never something that the 19-year-old cook had ever seen fit to award any credit. It was just something that you were born into, survived through, enjoyed as best you could, and, in the end, once your earthly body could take no more, you died and went to heaven knows where. Life had never been easy for him, but he had never taken to moping and sulking about the past. Only stupid idiots did that, and Sanji was NOT a stupid idiot.

Life had always been a paradox, an enigma that could throw you a surprise birthday party one minute and then kill your best friend the next. Sanji had never allowed himself to think too much on this ridiculous term of life, finding that it only succeeding in royally pissing him off, inducing a chronic need to find something on the ship that was breathing and make it stop.

But as he was currently laying spread wide beneath the seasoned swordsman, no more than a year his senior, there was something to be said for this concept of 'life'. Sure it was an infuriating paradox that would occasionally and metaphorically vomit on his freshly baked cream puffs that he had so carefully prepared for the beauties on board. But there were also times like this that made all of those miserably pissed-off times worth the heartburn and migraines that fueled his raging nicotine dependency.

The same life that had marooned him on an island with a cantankerous old pirate captain was the same life that had brought him to this very moment in time...and he sure as hell wasn't going to complain about that.

Even then as his baby-soft golden hair was a tangled mess, his body coated in a pink flush from the sheer arousal of the encounter...and as contradictory greedy and vulnerable hands dug into the creamy flesh of the back of his knees, opening him wider for an even deeper penetration - he wondered why the hell he was wasting energy dwelling on a subject that, frankly, he never had and probably never would give half a shit about.

Sanji could tell that Zoro wasn't as calm as he was pretending to be. His fingers were trembling as they grasped at the soft skin on the underside of the cook's knees, as was the rest of his tight, muscular body. The swordsman had his forehead pressed against the slighter body's damp shoulder as he tried to calm his erratic breath. The oceanic-eyed cook ground his hips down onto the tan ones of the brash brute, wanting to push the stubborn swordsman over the edge. To see and feel Zoro fall apart was something that Sanji took great appreciation in experiencing.

Zoro was currently having trouble holding on to the limited control he still held, and he could feel his impending orgasm as Sanji rocked against him, his throbbing length buried deep within the velvety heat. The feel of his lover's silky smooth, creamy skin flush against his own caramel flesh, for the first time in a long time, was driving him beyond his sanity and already shaky control. He pressed his face even deeper into the pale shoulder beneath him attempting once more to cool the growing heat within him that was threatening to burst forth.

Sanji moaned appreciatively, nipping harshly at the salty skin of the swordsman's neck, just below his left ear, his fingers clutching at the hard deltoid muscles that were pulled tightly atop the tan shoulders above him. His body trembled harshly as he nearly sobbed his need into Zoro's shoulder, nipping at the scarred skin. Wantonly, he continued to rock against the swordsman's thrusts, tangling the lithe fingers of his right hand in the short, mint-green spikes of the marimo's hair as he dragged the man's mouth to his own, wrapping his tongue around the others. Zoro, taken by surprise at the sudden kiss, released Sanji's left knee, raising his hand to cup the porcelain cheek as he groaned into the lip-lock, nearly losing the rhythm of his thrusts.

As the kiss broke for oxygen, Zoro looked down at the writhing and gasping blonde, thumbing circles on his soft cheekbone, entranced as he watched his lover move beneath him, the cook's now dark blue eyes heavily lidded with sensation, his face flush with exertion. He looked so fucking beautiful...but he would never tell Sanji that. No, he would never risk having these moments ripped away from him even for a single time because of the moody blonde's overwhelming pride. For the moment, the moans and pants of pleasure and exertion were all that he could even manage to make out; the painful digging of Sanji's heel into the dip of his lower back was the only thing keeping him even slightly grounded and aware at that time. Those loud gasps for air and the feeling of that long leg tightly around his right hip gave him a sense of achievement that no one could take away from him. There wasn't a single detail of this moment that wasn't imprinted in the swordsman's mind: the creamy skin beneath his fingers, the friction of his broad chest against the lean one beneath him, the tickling shiver as the golden hair swept across his ear, or the firm grip on his tense shoulders as he sharply thrust into the lithe body below.

He couldn't stop the gruff moan from falling past his lips as he felt that familiar coil of white-hot heat in the pit of his stomach and the familiar jerking of the alabaster hips against his own as his partner obviously had a similar experience. His pace quickened, sharpening as they both sought that precious release, reaching for it with their writhing bodies as if it was something tangible to grasp. Lifting the cooks leg higher on his hip, shoving the other's right knee back towards the heaving chest below, he nipped at the ivory jaw line beside his head, licking at the glistening skin as he thrust deeply. He slid his right hand from the heated cheek, taking a firm hold of his partner's leaking member, feeling the shaking body buckle slightly beneath him. This was it...not hell, high water, or marines could have stopped them now as the throbbing sensation of pure ecstasy washed over them, nearly simultaneously. Zoro spilled his seed deeply within the tense body beneath him as the cook bit harshly into his shoulder, his own hot essence coating their stomachs and chests in the sticky fluid.

There were a few moments of empty silence before Sanji returned to himself, still wrapped around the swordsman's body, and as they laid, sated for the time being in the afterglow of their unfortunately uncommon interlude, Sanji dared someone to question them. He hoped to whatever god there was that no one was ever thickheaded enough to ask what the two were. They were nakama...who just happened to fuck each other senseless every few stops at port. That was it. He saved Zoro's neck; Zoro saved his. They fought and they bitched, but somehow, they still got along. It wasn't perfect, but it worked, and that was what was important in the end.


	2. Incision

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Rating: K

Warning: Language

Timeline: Movie 5 scene, though changed a bit for story purposes

* * *

~*Incision*~

* * *

As he lay there on the dusty earth, the firm weight of the carrot-haired navigator's petite hand on his shoulder, he couldn't even feel the pain – but an unsettling numbness that penetrated to the very depths of his soul. Though the crimson rivulets slithered down his chest and back from the deep gash in his shoulder, he could do nothing but unblinkingly stare at the moss-haired man in front of him, those deadly katana glinting almost painfully in the harsh sunlight.

He couldn't hear the screams of the women and his crew around him, rushing to his side as he clutched at the new wound in his shoulder. He couldn't concentrate on anything but the man before him, slick with sweat and glaring menacingly in an unspoken warning at him, daring him to question his motives…and that was okay – because he couldn't even begin to find his voice.

All Sanji could do was stare…unable to hold back the shocked and betrayed expression that took up residence on his usually benign features. As Nami screamed in his ear, panicking at the amount of blood pouring from his wound, it didn't even register to the cook, as he was too preoccupied staring into that emotionless face, searching it for any sign that might explain his highly uncharacteristic attack upon his own nakama…only to find nothing but hard, cold green eyes and a tensely set jaw.

"Stay out of my way," was the only thing he heard, the deep voice reaching his ears as a growl from around the white katana clutched harshly between his bite.

Those words hurt more than the bleeding gash that was finally beginning to sting…

Sanji unconsciously furrowed his brows; his eyes pricking with unshed tears…tears that would never fall in the presence of any of the people around him. Biting his lower lip harshly, hiding behind the façade of pain and discomfort, he blinked at the hulking man in front of him, his head bowing slightly as if to say, 'Fine. Have it your way…'

Pulling himself into a kneeling position, Nami squawking in his ear to stay down, he still didn't hear her, pushing himself off of the ground and dusting the dirt and mud from his slacks and jacket before raising his eyes to stare intensely into the resolute eyes of his raging crewmate, bearing into those emerald orbs with an emotion he never thought he would feel for the swordsman: contempt.

Sure they had fought like hell in the past, drawn blood even…but they had never struck to kill. That was unthinkable, because they were, ultimately, still nakama. Sanji didn't know what had possessed the swordsman, what force had infected his mind with some alien bloodlust, but if there was one thing that he knew about the marimo, it was that he never did anything without a very legitimate reason.

So, instead of lashing out at him, calling him nasty names, or demanding that his crew take care of it, the cook took a cigarette from his breast pocket, placing it between his chapped lips, and lighting it with his new lighter. Taking an exceptionally long drag on it, he watched the swordsman disappear into the forest, followed by those hideous co-conspirators. And all he did was stand there for a moment, exhale the delicious smoke, allowing the nicotine to thoroughly coat his lungs, slithering through his veins, calming his frazzled nerves, and turn swiftly over his shoulder, making his way to Chopper for a quick patch-up.

This time, he heard the yells of disbelief from the attractive navigator, the firm grip of her small hand at the crook of his elbow, "Sanji! What the hell are you doing?! Aren't you going to go after him?"

Sanji didn't even blink, but came to a dead halt, turning his sweat-slicked face to meet her with a soft expression. Removing the nicotine stick from his lips, flicking the ashes to the ground below, he exhaled once more, the throb in his shoulder now unmistakable, "No, Nami…I'm not."

Her eyes widened considerably, her grip tightening on his arm as she gaped, "What?! Why not?"

He allowed his eyes to slide closed at her protest, taking another drag on his cigarette as he bowed his head slightly, "I have dinner to prepare."

And that was all he gave her before pulling from her now limp grasp and making his way back to the village, with heavy shoulders and an even heavier heart. All other senses faded into the background, the sounds, smells, images…nothing else was apparent to the cook as he sat before the reindeer, the burn of alcohol against the gaping wound barely a twinge against the pain he felt in his very soul. Closing his eyes to the lack of sensation, he took a final drag of his cigarette, savoring the tingle it left on the tips of his nerves.

_Zoro, you asshole…you better know what the fuck you are doing_.


	3. Stronghold

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Rating: PG

Timeline: Post Thriller Bark

* * *

~***Stronghold***~

* * *

As his heavy lids peeled open, an only slightly lighter darkness penetrating his vision, the swordsman groaned slightly in discomfort at his swiftly protesting muscles, stiff from immobility. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he scanned the room slowly before resting his green eyes on the familiar figure at the foot of his bed. The lanky 19-year-old sat silently, his shoulders hunched, golden hair fanning over the arch of his brow, concealing his unique eyebrow and hauntingly sapphire-colored eyes.

Attempting to rise to a sitting position, Zoro was assaulted with a harsh burn throughout his body that ripped a soft moan from his lips; the eyes of the now alert blonde snapping forcefully in his direction. He now remembered that he had taken a near fatal blow during their last battle, peering down to see his body wrapped in countless bandages stained with that all too familiar crimson streak. Before Zoro could blink, his crewmate was on his feet and at his side, a pale and uncharacteristically trembling hand pressing him firmly back to the mattress, a look of deep concern apparent on his stern and unsettlingly troubled features.

The swordsman's eyes widened slightly when he noticed the moisture beginning to build in those oceanic orbs that now stared down at him with a mixture of raging emotions, and Zoro couldn't help but reach a weak, tan hand up to graze his fingertips just under the cooks right eye, feeling the heat of unshed tears and the tension of restraint that was quickly slipping beneath his deceptively gentle touch.

Sanji was never one to become emotional; in fact, Zoro couldn't honestly say that he had ever seen the blonde cry before in all the time of knowing him. So, to know that those tears, hiding behind those puffy lids beneath his now shaking fingers, were most likely his fault…it was nearly heartbreaking.

Without really thinking about what to do next, he caught one of the skinny alabaster wrists in his free hand, dragging the shocked man down to the mattress beside him, carefully wrapping his good arm around the slender waist and pulling the cook tightly to his broken body. Zoro was surprised when Sanji didn't resist, concern flooding him as the younger man actually burrowed cautiously into the crook of his neck, his body trembling against him, as if desperate for contact. Sighing deeply, the swordsman reached his bandaged arm across his own chest, seeking out the slighter form's lithe hand, grasping it tightly and lacing his larger fingers together with the long, thin ones of his partner. He could feel a hand absently threading careful fingers through his moss-colored hair, a calm settling over the silence of the bedroom.

He knew that when he recovered, this night would never be spoken of again, for he understood that Sanji had his pride and Zoro had absolutely no qualms with that. But, for now, in the darkness and the quiet of the ship's medical quarters, away from prying eyes and accusatory tongues, the both of them were allowed to be whatever they felt like being; be that hard, angry, I'm-gonna-fuck-you-up-if-you-look-at-me-wrong men or lovers that just needed to know that everything was going to be okay in the end.

As they lay there in silence, nothing but the slosh of the waves and the creaks of the ship around them, things made sense, even though they didn't have to. Twisting his sore neck slightly, Zoro gently nuzzled his nose across the cook's forehead; brushing the soft yellow hair away, he pressed chaste and comforting lips against the smooth flesh below, his breath hot on the cool skin. He felt the tense body against him shudder slightly, grip tightening on their joined hands. As the trembling ceased, a heavy sigh slipping from the blonde's lips, fanning across the swordsman's neck, Zoro allowed a tiny smile to tug at the corners of his mouth.

This was the definition of what it meant to have something beyond your dreams to live for – and, though his body was battered and broken, Zoro could honestly say that he couldn't be happier…


	4. Benediction

AN: This piece is one that leads into the piece before it, **Stronghold, **and goes through the piece from Sanji's PoV.

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Rating: PG

Timeline: right before **Stronghold**.

* * *

~*Benediction*~

* * *

Sometimes…scratch that – _all_ the time – talking to the swordsman was like talking to a goldfish…a really ugly, fat, stupid **goldfish **with a Hercules complex! Any sort of attempt at civilized conversation usually led to the use of a few choice words at an ear-splitting volume ultimately resulting in some form of violent repercussions. But…the cook couldn't say that he wasn't completely used to it by now, accepting it even.

As he took a long, deep drag on his nicotine stick, allowing the smoke to permeate to the core of his nerves, he couldn't help but reflect on the fact that his painful, and sometimes bloody, spats with the bushido were an integral part of his daily routine. But lately, he was loath to admit, that disagreements-that-led-to-arguments-that-turned-into-fights-that-became-murderous-intent had been absent from the ship for the last week – and Sanji wasn't handling it very well.

His final count of cigarettes-per-day had jumped from the normal seven to a startling fifteen – over twice his regular average! This was unacceptable. Sure he knew that it was best that Zoro didn't leave the medic bunk after receiving near fatal wounds from their incidents in that heinously damned place called _Thriller Bark_ but Sanji couldn't seem to shake the awful feeling that he was far more worried about the moron than he should be.

Or was this only natural – to feel this much concern for someone you happen to have a strong attraction to. It was true that he and Zoro had been, well, _fucking_ for a few months; but that didn't mean that they were in love or anything like that. No…absolutely not. Falling in love with one of your crewmates spelled destruction for one or both of you, should anything happen to the other person while traversing these unforgivable seas.

Of course, Zoro and he had never spoken of their _feelings_ for each other, because their intentions were enough to make this 'thing' work…for now. Also, Zoro had never been much of a talker anyway. Sanji believed the phrase had been, "Words are for pussies, women, and priests. I am none of those."

That was his Zoro, eloquent as ever with the manner of his speech.

It was true that they had laid claim on one another, but that was only natural…wasn't it? Sanji and Zoro had signed this unspoken agreement to not fuck anyone else while they still fucked each other, and that was normal…wasn't it? That didn't mean that there was some clandestine love affair occurring – the kind that was written about in those 'heaving bosoms,' sappy, Oh-my-fucking-god-I'm-going-to-vomit-sugar-after-allowing-my-mind-to-absorb-this-feminine-bullshit romance novels. No, they were both just horny young adults that happened to come to an understanding with each other and their hormones; one finally coming to terms with an awakening sexuality, and the other scared to death that, for the first time, he wasn't the one in control.

But that still didn't explain why Sanji's feet unconsciously led him to that heavy wooden door that sheltered the broken body of the swordsman, as he lay, still unconscious, from his severe wounds. It definitely didn't account for the painful swell of involuntary fear that twisted and knotted tightly in his torso, threatening to steal his breath. No, this was not normal…

So why was he here? Why was he standing with his left palm flat against the Adam's wood door to the infirmary? Why was his breath so shallow, his eyes wide with anticipation, and his heart thundering in his chest as if there was some imminent danger nearby? Why couldn't he just turn around and return to the galley where he could immerse himself in his natural art and forget about all of this worrisome bullshit, letting them swordsman recover in peace? What was the force that was driving him to press against that heavy door, sliding it from it's resting place against the frame, pushing his lithe body through the narrow opening, letting not a single ray of light in? What had possessed him to kick his shoes off and pad in black-socked feet over to the mat on the floor where the wounded marimo lay unconscious, chest rising and falling with every labored breath?

He may never know what unseen force drove him to kneel silently at the foot of that occupied mat; what pushed him to cross his legs beneath him and hunch his shoulders forward as he stared tensely at the sleeping man before him, taking in the bruises and scratches that still littered those chiseled features, the brow creased in a subconscious frown even in rest.

And, for the twenty-year-old cook, he didn't really need to know. All he needed to know was that that man was going to wake up soon, and that when he did, everything was going to go back to the way it had been before. The fighting, arguing, insulting, annoying-as-fuck lifestyle from before all of this shit spun chaotically out of control.

Resting a cold and trembling hand on the warm ankle in front of him, covered by a mere thin sheet, Sanji hung his head, and for the first time in a very long time…he prayed.


	5. Cerulean

Title: Cerulean

Rating: PG-13/ light R

Warning: Language, Mild Sexual Content

Timeline: continuation of _**Incision**_ & OP Movie 5

Current Song Stuck in Head: Ano Basho He – Harebare

* * *

~***Cerulean***~

* * *

Sailing away from that island, now free from the curse of that diabolical sword, had never been an easier thing to do. For as the _Merry _drifted at a leisurely pace from those dark waters into the great unknown, the ship was completely silent, as if fearful of disturbing some coveted peace that had been narrowly attained by retreating from the land.

The evening was calm, dim shadows dancing across the edges and walls of the small ship, the slosh of the sea washing against the sides of the vessel almost like a calming song. A cool breeze found its way across the tan cheeks of the immobile figure leaning over the railing, elbows resting against the polished wood, head dipped slightly as the air brushed sharply against the warm flesh. The breeze from the sea was pleasantly caressing his arms, ruffling the tattered sleeves of his shirt and jingling his three earrings teasingly against the side of his neck. There was nothing on deck but himself and the bright moon and stars, peering down at him dimly, enveloping him in an ethereal glow.

The crew had retired to bed several hours earlier, but this night was not one of rest for the anxious swordsman whose mind was running rampant with reverie and regret. Regret…that pooling feeling bubbling in his stomach, tightening so thickly that it made him literally ache inside, palms rubbing at his glazed jade eyes, willing futilely to ward off those painful whispers in the back of his mind that made him feel extremely guilty and irrevocably disgusting.

Disgusting…for what kind of man could knowingly turn on – no – could knowingly injure his own lover…and _not_ be disgusting?

He couldn't, and didn't even try to, hold back the sigh that slipped past his lips, disappearing into the breeze, leaving no evidence behind of its presence. He didn't care right now if a sigh meant that he was weak…because that's exactly what he had been – weak.

He was so weak that he had chosen some empty promise that he had made to an old friend many years prior…a friend that he owed nothing to and that probably wasn't even in his right mind at the time Zoro took him up on his offer. He was so weak that he had forsaken his own crew, of which he was the _first mate_, for said empty promise…and so weak that he hadn't even batted an eye when he struck his lover down and watched him bleed – all because the shit-cook had been trying to figure out just what the hell was going on and that happened to be hindering him in his progress to find those _fucking_ _orbs_.

It was the truth…Zoro felt like ten different kinds of heaping, steaming shit for what he had allowed himself to do to that island, his crew, and the man that he loved above all others. That man had _trusted_ him, for God's sake – trusted him so much that he had let him go, knowing full well that he might never return and that if he did it could be to take the blonde's very life. If that wasn't devotion, then Zoro didn't know what the hell devotion was…

He kept replaying the scene over in his mind, reliving that moment and wondering just what the hell he had been thinking. The answer was: nothing. He had not been _thinking_…just acting; acting on some expired promise that had been twisted into a vague shadow of what it was originally intended to be. He couldn't help but shiver at the image of his blonde lover standing before him, shoulder bleeding profusely under his stained palm, eyes wide with shock and confusion, that betrayed expression as he turned to leave. God, he felt like such a dick…

He had only spoken with the love-cook once since the incident, and the man had acted as if the situation had never happened…but Zoro knew better. He could see the subtle differences in the blonde: the way he favored his left shoulder more now; the way his eyes always seemed slightly glazed when in his presence; and the steadily increasing number of the martial artist's cigarette intake. He wasn't getting anything past Zoro.

Not knowing what else to do, Zoro turned over his shoulder and headed for the galley to snag one of those cheap bottles of whiskey they had picked up on the island, thankful that _something_ good had come of that god-forsaken trip.

He pushed the heavy wooden door open, stepping inside and allowing it to close behind him, darkness flooding his vision. Reaching to flip the light switch on, he was suddenly stopped cold at the sound of a soft and gravelly voice; "Luffy, get the _fuck_ out or you aren't getting breakfast tomorrow…"

_Ah, Sanji…but what the hell is he still doing up?_ Hadn't he gone to bed with the others, hours ago? Apparently not…But what concerned the swordsman the most was that the cook hadn't immediately recognized him upon entry, assuming him to be the bottomless pit of their captain sneaking around for a midnight snack.

Walking as silently as he could towards the direction of the voice, shrouded in shadow and thick blackness, he noticed the faint glow of the embers at the end of the blonde's trademark cigarette, the scent of the smoke reaching his senses like the earlier breeze against his cheeks. Following that scent and that glow, he came to stand directly in front of the dark figure slumped against the wall beside the sink, boneless on the floor, long lethal legs spread straight out in front of him.

He saw the blonde cook blink as he felt eyes watching him, and Zoro heard him exhale a particularly long drag of nicotine-laced smoke. Zoro's own eyes blinked, rapidly adjusting to the darkness, his vision clearing enough to make out the vague features of the man before him. Without thinking he crouched in front of the silent cook, watching as he crushed his spent cigarette into a previously placed ashtray by his side, and heard the sound of a head thump against the kitchen wall, apparently realizing the identity of its newest guest.

Silence set in for several long minutes, the tension thickening, before Sanji swept a foot out and tapped at Zoro's ankle, fiddling with the tails of his own un-tucked periwinkle dress shirt, sleeves rolled up past the elbows, tie abandoned long ago, "Did you need something?"

Zoro's brow furrowed at the nearly dismissive words from his aloof lover, pushing himself into a sitting position beside him against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. He heard the blonde sigh in resignation beside him, his knuckles drumming along the floorboards beneath them in a cadent rhythm.

Not being able to stand the silence any longer, Zoro turned his body to face the man beside him, resting his left hand on the black trouser-clad thigh, corded muscles twitching beneath his touch in surprise. Then the words did come, laced with a mixture of sadness and resignation, "What is it?"

Instead of giving a reply, the swordsman grasped the cook by his narrow shoulders, careful not to jar him, spinning him around, feeling the cerulean eyes widen and lock onto his own. Then one of Zoro's hands slowly threaded through his sandy-colored hair, feeling it slide between his digits like silk or satin, tumbling back against the porcelain cheek below, shrouding that left eye in mystery once more. Tilting the alabaster chin, Zoro leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on the soft skin of the blonde's forehead, lips barely brushing against the cool flesh.

The swordsman could feel the shudder that ran through the cook's body, resting his forehead against the slighter man's, gazing into that one cerulean eye that was half-hidden beneath a tired lid. Then, with bated breath and a shuddering sigh, Zoro whispered gently across the cook's breathy lips, "You know I love you, right?"

He heard the hitch in Sanji's breath at the blunt words, never spoken before between the two. There had never been any need to speak them, for words were just that – words. Words were so empty compared to the meaning that actions could convey so much more accurately. So to hear those words uttered from the mouth of a Nihilistic, antisocial, masochistic swordsman shook the blonde to the very core, emotions welling in the young cook that he had forgotten he could feel.

Sanji did his best to nod, succeeding in brushing their lips ever-so-slightly against each other, evoking a soft sigh from the swordsman before the man whispered once more against those soft petals, "Because you can't know just how terrible I feel for what I did back there…"

As if to punctuate his words physically, Zoro lifted a callused hand to the still healing wound on the cook's left shoulder, running his fingertips over the soft fabric of his thin shirt where he knew the bandages were hidden beneath, "You have no idea how sorry I am…"

He could feel the cook shiver under his touch, lips brushing once more against his own, "Oi, Marimo…shut the hell up and kiss me already. It's been a week…"

Zoro eagerly obliged, leaning in to mesh their lips gently together, but he couldn't help but smirk knowingly against the other's mouth at the harsh approval, knowing that he wouldn't have his Sanji any other way.

Their lips slid effortlessly against each other, velvety and smooth as their tongues slid against one another, dueling half-heartedly for control before Sanji's quickly relinquished to the larger man's advances. "Zoro…"

God, the sound of his name breathed by those soft lips…he felt himself shudder, a surge of arousal running through his body, a hand now running through his green hair, caressing his scalp gently.

Breathing harshly against those smooth, cool lips, Zoro muttered softly, "I'm sorry...for scaring you, Sanji."

A groan was his answer, teeth lightly nipping at his own hot petals, "Shut up, dumbass-marimo. Why would I be scared about what happened to you...?"

But Zoro knew, and smirked lightly at the truth behind the lies. Even though the cook's words spoke of apathy, his body said otherwise. It was apparent in the rigidity of his shoulders, the trembling of his slight frame, and the breathy rasp behind his words against the swordsman's lips as he held back stutters of anxiety.

So, to Zoro, it came as no surprise that after a few moments of heavy silence, the blonde burrowed his head into the soft shoulder and whispered breathlessly against the swordsman's neck, "It was far too close this time."

His voice was hoarse, pinched at the edges by the echoes of the lingering pain of that fateful day. Zoro could feel the cook's blunt nails digging desperately into his forearms, his hot breath spilling across his throat, tickling the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. Raising his left hand, Zoro rubbed his thumb gently across the blonde's cheek, catching his breath at the presence of a suspicious wetness against his fingertips. Lifting his other hand to cup Sanji's opposite cheek, he thumbed over the tear tracks, smearing them against the pale porcelain skin, trying to erase their presence.

He could feel the silent tremors of the cook's body, pressed tightly against him now, Sanji's long arms wrapping tightly against the backs of his muscular shoulders, as if grasping for a lifeline to keep him from drowning in his own tears. Zoro was at a loss for words, for he knew in his heart that these tears were of relief…relief from the pain of weeklong anxiety stemmed from the swordsman's heinous actions. There was nothing that he could say to ebb the flow of those salty streams that now trickled down the alabaster skin under his palms…nothing he could say that would make this lingering pain disappear.

So he wouldn't say anything, because – once more – words paled before actions.

Tonight was not a night for words, for there would be many days in the future to worry about linguistics…but tonight – this was a night for forgiveness…forgiveness and acceptance. This was a night that held the promise of a new beginning – the death of an old way of living. From now on Sanji came first…even if that wasn't what the cook wanted.

So, leaning in once more, Zoro breathed softly over those baby-soft lips, muttering one last phrase, "I will _never_ hurt you again," before smashing his lips firmly against those precious ones below.

He could feel the slighter man gasp against his lips, taking the opportunity to snake his tongue past those straight teeth and slide mercilessly against it's twin, causing the other to shudder in his arms. Zoro's right hand slid gently down the long porcelain neck, his fingertips sliding below the collar on their way down to begin unbuttoning his thin shirt. The flesh was warm to the touch, velvety soft and aching for attention as the swordsman's fingers delicately danced across the now exposed chest and stomach. The tight muscles jumped and tensed under the tentative ministrations, those callused fingers scraping carefully over pale skin, goose bumps following closely behind the traveling digits.

As the swordsman pushed the periwinkle shirt from the trembling blonde's shoulders, his kisses trailed across the sharp jaw and down that pale neck, hesitating as they brushed against the edge of the white gauze bandages that concealed the most shameful wound Zoro had ever inflicted.

Sensing the man's indecision, Sanji grasped one larger, more hardened hand in his own, raising it to his lips and kissing it softly before placing it lightly against the still tender injury. Zoro's brow furrowed in both confusion and sadness as he thumbed gently over the affected area. His thoughts were broken as the gravelly voice reached his ears once more, "Chopper says it will probably leave a nasty scar…"

Zoro's heart dropped a mile, regret and guilt flooding his body once more, his grip tightening on the cheek in his left hand. He took a deep breath, ready to sigh and apologize again, but Sanji's words stopped him in the act, "But I think scars add character. I've kind of always wanted one…"

Zoro's eyes snapped to the one gazing at him, that shy smile on those sinful lips sending a shiver down his spine, the words affecting him more than usual. But before he could speak in reply, desperate and hungry lips were on his once more, pressing roughly against his own. Zoro gasped in surprise and Sanji pushed his tongue into his mouth, exploring it at once, following the dips and contours of that hot cavern.

As those lips slid savagely against his own, filling him with lust and love for their owner, Zoro couldn't help but notice something that he had failed to comprehend from the very beginning. Sanji _loved_ him, and with love came trust, faith, and forgiveness, things that were strange to someone of the swordsman's lifestyle. In his mind, love had always been marked by candle-lit dinners, roses on anniversaries, solid silver bands on the left ring fingers, and the whole 'rainbows and butterflies' mentality that came with any romantic relationship.

But the beauty of his bond with the blonde cook was that it wasn't practical. It wasn't practical and it wasn't normal. Their relationship forsook all of those trite and cliché symbols of romance and 'puppy-love'. Their bond was one of trust and commitment to one another that stood strong even in the face of death: a promise, though unspoken, that represented everything that they stood for. It encompassed their dreams and goals for the future, acceptance of one another's pasts, as well as their unfailing loyalty to their crew and captain.

With a touching realization, Zoro could now understand that, even though he had broken this promise for a time, Sanji wasn't going to let him be rid of it completely, pulling him back in and doing what he could to help the swordsman bury his guilt and restore that commitment…that unwritten contract between their very souls.

That was when Zoro realized that he was holding in his arms something that was greater than himself…and it was true. Sanji was more of a man, more of a nakama, and more of a true lover than Zoro had and would ever hope to be. And for once…Zoro wasn't loathing to admit this concession of defeat to the blonde cook whose lips were flushed and panting against his own; a long, thin finger trailing softly now against the outline of his own jagged scar…


	6. Vulnerable

Title: Vulnerable

Rating: PG

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Topic: Camera (drabble for LJ's most recent onepieceyaoi100 challenge)

* * *

As the thin stream of sunlight through the billowing grey gossamer curtains danced over the alabaster skin, unspoiled and smooth as milk, the swordsman realized that it was moments like this that he wished he had taken Nami up on her offer to buy himself a camera...even if it did mean that he'd have to share the spoils.

Because in that moment, he wished he could freeze time and save it forever, locking it away in a treasure chest buried deep within his heart.

Raking his hungry eyes over the vulnerable form beside him, he ran a callused hand softly along the taut abdomen below, his digits mapping out the contours of every dip and curve along their journey of that sinfully silky skin. He watched as the lethal muscles rippled and relaxed beneath his touch, responding in ways that caused his blood to heat up.

Wrapping a powerful arm around the lean waist of the sleeping cook, Zoro sighed pleasantly to himself, knowing that even though he didn't have a camera or any way to physically duplicate this moment, he would always have the ability to relive it as often as time and opportunity would allow, because this man was _his_.

And that was perfectly acceptable in his book.


	7. Breathless

Pairing: Zoro/Ace

Rating: R/MA

Warning: Language, Sexual Content

Timeline: Post-Ace's rescue from Impel Down

* * *

~***Breathless***~

* * *

With bated breath and trembling hands, tired jade eyes roved over the hundreds of new cuts, scrapes, and bruises marring that tan, freckled flesh beneath their gaze; those corded, lean muscles shaking with anticipation and exhaustion below his torturously tender touch.

Callused fingers dragged mercilessly across the tight planes of the contoured stomach, trailing searing lines down the curve of a narrow hip, bruised but beautiful, before finally sweeping along a hypersensitive inner-thigh, evoking a sharp gasp from the recipient of this hedonistic game of show and tell.

Heavy midnight orbs locked with their jade counterparts as a slick digit slipped effortlessly inside of the panting flame master, nails digging into the swordsman's shoulders, back arching at the aching sensation of being penetrated so gently, pulling a deep, breathy moan from the raven-haired man.

As another powerful finger joined the first, stretching and pulling at the tight ring of muscles, hot lips found the baby-soft flesh of a wantonly stretched neck, dulled teeth nipping softly at an already scratched and mottled throat, mindful of the still aching wounds, though never too cautious in their exploration.

Leaning firmly against the lithe, though toned body below him, the swordsman rained soft, wet kisses against that sharp jaw, pulling light groans of need from the commander. A large, but careful hand lifted to Ace's cheek, catching a stray tear from the freckled temple, expression never faltering as he removed his methodical fingers and aligned himself for the next step, a shiver coursing through him in delicious anticipation.

Heated breath gusting across panting lips, soft petals brushing feather soft against one another, Zoro's hand moved down to the 'Fire Fist's' thigh, applying an encouraging pressure, beckoning him to open himself further. As their tongues finally melted together, hot velvet sliding against fiery silk, a narrow hip was grabbed and sharply angled, a strangled gasp falling from those moaning lips, tumbling into the waiting mouth of the swordsman as something much larger replaced those fingers in one fluid motion.

"Damn, I've missed you..." were the feverish words breathed heatedly against those hungry lips above, evoking a groan from the addressed swordsman.

This was not only an: 'Oh-it's-been-so-long-since-I've-seen-you' concession, but also an 'Oh-God-you-feel-like-heaven-inside-of-me-It's-been-too-long' confession, moving the swordsman to thrust deeply into the hot, narrow space, pulling a sharp moan from the man below.

Any self-control that Zoro may have had left at this point evaporated when the raven-haired commander moaned against his lips, whispering softly, "Oh God..."

Hands slipped down the tan, flawless back of the swordsman, blunt nails dragging against moist flesh leaving candy-pink stripes in their wake. As the bushido slowly began to roll his hips once more, savoring the delicious feeling of that heat around him, he watched the pirate commander below him, shadows dancing across the slicked skin from the small amount of moonlight entering through the tiny window above the mat where the two lay entangled.

Lifting the elder man's leg higher, Zoro noticed the muscles beginning to shake with exertion and need, those onyx orbs falling behind trembling, exhausted lids. With soft gasps for air, a lower lip disappeared between a row of straight teeth as the son of the former Pirate King held back a strangled cry as his sweet spot was slammed into mercilessly.

He had barely reined the noises in before the green-haired man wrapped his arms around his broad shoulders and pulled him harshly down onto him, burying himself none-too-gently to the hilt within that velvety heat. An angry thumb soon found its way to the quivering chin, pulling the bruised lip from the harsh bite, "Uh uh, I want to hear you."

Those words sent a shudder of want down the flame master's spine, a groan escaping his lips in reply, begging wordlessly for more. His hair was a matted, tangled mess, his body curling in on itself as Zoro pressed against that glorious spot within him once more, dragging strangled sobs from his now heaving chest, sweat drops rolling down the monstrous tattoo on his well-inked back.

Blunt nails dug into his namesake branded on his arm, tiny drops of blood sliding against the rough palms of the swordsman, staining his flesh a deep crimson, soon to fade to rusted brown. Zoro buried his face in that musky, ebony hair, inhaling that deeply rich scent of sweat and ash that clearly suited his lover.

It's fast and hard from there, neither having time to catch their breath as they arch against each other, lips crashing against one another's fiercely. As the pleasure was building deep within the swordsman, he pulled away from the kiss with a moan, head bowing in concentration. They were fast losing their rhythm, slamming into one another with reckless abandon, groans and gasps of sensation filling the space around them.

All it took was one last nip from Zoro at the base of his jaw and Ace came hard, spilling his seed between the two of them, a string of curses escaping his lips at the sheer intensity of his orgasm. Not more than a few thrusts later, Zoro released as well, whispering the onyx-eyed commander's name against the shell of his ear, causing a shudder to course through the fire-wielder's body, the edges of his release still sensitive as ever.

As the afterglow sank in, wrapping itself warmly around the entangled lovers, Zoro reached a hand up to brush the stray hairs from the sweat slicked forehead of the man below him. Watching the dark-haired man swallow dryly, eyes hooded with exhaustion, he leaned down and brushed his lips over a sweat stained cheek, nuzzling his nose into the matted hair just past the temple. "Sleep now, Fire Fist..."

Rolling off of the barely conscious man, the swordsman tugged a wool blanket over their now clammy bodies, pulling the naturally warm body tightly against him. Tucking the midnight-eyed pirate's head into the crook of his shoulder, he sighed a peaceful breath, allowing his body to relax and fall into a lucid state, murmuring gently against the now lightly sleeping man's cheek, "Welcome home..."


	8. Oblivion

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Rating: PG

Warning: yaoi, language, violence, Major Spoilers for episodes 377-378

Timeline: During episodes 377-379 (end of Thriller Bark arc)

Song Stuck in Head: Bink's Sake – Straw Hat version

* * *

~***Oblivion***~

* * *

Blunt but stabbing pain tore through his ribs; spots of black and white dotting his vision as that now burning agony coursed through his abdomen, encompassing his entire body in a miserable, jarring spasm.

The air left his lungs with a violent grunt of surprise at the inhuman strength behind the unforeseen attack.

His body spun to the left, a trembling hand slamming down onto the coarse, stained cloth covering a corded shoulder, muscles tense beneath his grasp, as he fought to stay upright. Fingertips curled into the material, short nails digging into the tan flesh beneath, baby blue eyes flashing in disbelief at the shadowed face before him.

He could see out of the corner of his eye as the blunt end of that ominously red and black katana, retreated from his ruined left side, his body beginning to curl in on itself as the pain spread quickly through his limbs, ricocheting off of every bone, muscle, and organ in his body.

Fighting just to catch a full breath of oxygen, he could feel the blood running down his face, the sweat-slicked golden hair flat against his forehead, the flesh giving way beneath his gripping fingers, crimson staining the white fabric beneath his grasp. "W...Why you...!" he managed to moan out, his vision swimming before him as he tried to focus on the statuesque man towering before him, unmoving.

His strength was quickly escaping him, his knees giving way beneath his body, as his hand began to slide from that now wounded shoulder, trailing down past his short sleeve.

His fingertips dragged limply across the tightly toned bicep, digits dipping unconsciously into the curves where the tissues connected, ghosting across the dark sage colored bandana wrapped snugly around those shaking muscles.

Hovering shakily over that pointed elbow, heat pouring against his palm, he could feel his knees hit the rocky ground below, tiny sharp stones cutting into the flesh through his shredded black trousers.

As he felt his heart pounding against his sternum, black beginning to cover the majority of his vision, he wrapped his long, slender fingers tightly around that elbow, his thumb pressing harshly into the tender flesh at the juncture between that forearm and bicep for the last bit of stability he could manage.

He didn't have time to wonder if any of them were going to make it out of this alive, or if the swordsman before him would still be there if they did _pull_ through this, because darkness was _pulling_ at his mind.

Staring up one last time, he met those haunting jade eyes that were calling out a million things at once: anger at his rash decision to jump in front of the swordsman, disbelief at the fact that he was still semi-conscious, apology for his unprecedented attack on his own nakama...

But the last thing Sanji could make out before he fell backward and hit the jagged ground unconscious, was the presence of an underlying hint of fear in those screaming orbs. That was something he had never seen in Zoro..and he hoped he would never have to see again.

* * *

Blinking his bleary eyes into a hazy consciousness, pain surged through his body once again, pulling a strangled moan from his raw throat.

He could hear laughter and murmurs around him, all coalescing together in his humming ears; a stray hair from his fringe tickled his nose, sunlight blazing down onto his severely wounded form.

Groaning softly, he blinked away the final remnants of that darkness from his vision, eyes panning around, taking in the sight of his crew-mates in various states of health.

Seeing his captain bouncing about, a laughing ball of energy, as if nothing from the last few days had ever happened...was somehow terribly unsettling. _Something isn't right_.

Suddenly the memory of his last few moments of consciousness flooded back to him, his stiff body somehow shooting into a sitting position, face franticly searching for the green-haired idiot that had knocked him into oblivion not too long ago.

His eyes froze, widening considerably as they took in the figures of three well-kept katanas lying in a pile not but a few feet from him. His stomach dropped to the floor, panic flooding through his chest. Zoro never went anywhere without those precious weapons. It was almost as if they were parts of him, extensions of his already deadly body. _ I swear to God... if he's dead I'll kill him._

Pulling himself to his feet as quickly as his aching body would allow, the blonde hurriedly made his way to the swords, hovering over them as if to make sure they were truly there, not some mirage from dehydration or hallucination from his probable concussion.

He quickly jerked his head left and then the right, searching the crowds and the landscape for the man in question when suddenly he gasped, feeling a tug at his chi, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless. He had never been so thankful for all the time Zoro had spent teaching him how to get in tune with his inner chi, his very life force...and consequently, assisting him in reading other people's energies as well. He never thought he would have to use it like this..._So the bastard is alive...good_.

Pointing his eyes in the direction of the woods, he grunted softly before taking off at a blind sprint in the general area of the energy pull, his lungs burning from the exertion on his already broken body.

Coming to the end of the stone rubble, he pulled his body forward, sliding haphazardly down the slope that brought him to the lush grass below, dust and rubble filling the air behind him.

Stopping once more, catching what little breath he could, the landscape swimming around his vision, he fought to clear his mind once again, feeling for that pull. As he locked onto it, he darted quickly to his right, sprinting across the lingering rubble. "There's no way he could still be in one piece!"

Dashing with reckless abandon across the field, body protesting and begging for rest, he pushed himself further, "Where is that guy?!"

Abruptly his body froze, skidding to a halt as his head turned to the left, the pull on his chi nearly overwhelming his senses. As his eyes locked onto their target, they widened in disbelief, sapphire irises narrowing down to tiny strips of color against the onyx pupils.

"There he is..." he whispered nearly imperceptibly, taking in the vision of the man standing amongst more grey rocks, arms crossed tightly over broad chest.

The white shirt the blonde had dug his nails into earlier was now in shreds across his shoulders, baring his smooth back to the cook, blood pouring from hundreds of cuts and bruises along the mottled flesh.

Feeling anger bubbling in his gut, he slid down another slope, making his way to the immobile figure, "What the hell do you think you're playing at?! Hey!"

Shoving his hands into his pockets, attempting to make himself look less injured and more intimidating, he spat, breathlessly, "Where'd that Warlord go?"

But, as soon as he made it close enough to the swordsman to take in the full extent of his injuries, he froze, eyes widening immensely, mouth falling open as a soft gasp escaped him, "Holy shit..."

The mint colored hair was stained and matted with crimson blood, coagulating and slipping down his forehead and cheeks, like bleeding tears against his closed lids, sliding down his muscular neck and shoulders, dragging against every dip and curve in his body as it pooled into the basin his crossed arms created against his chest.

Zoro was still as a statue, but his muscles were trembling beneath the blood, sweat, and shredded material. Fear running through the blonde cook, he stuttered in a panicked tone, "What's with all this blood?!"

Getting no reply, he began to tremble himself, arms flailing slightly as he tried to grasp the marimo's attention, "Hey, are you still alive?! Where is that guy?!"

Still receiving no response, he moved closer, his voice rising a few volume levels as he reached hand out to touch that stiff shoulder before him, smearing his fingertips in the still hot blood, "What happened here?!"

Then time stopped, everything slowed to a crawl and all noises and vision around him faded, disappearing into the cosmos as he looked down at the area around them.

Everything: the stones, the grass, the trees, the dirt...all within a twenty foot radius...were coated in a fine spray of blood.

His heart nearly stopped in his chest as he managed to subconsciously whisper out, "Why so much blood...w-what happened?"

He heard a faint grunt from the bushido, those eyes slowly peeling open to half lidded. Jade orbs stared off into the distance, as if seeing through everything else, a swollen vein of exertion popping out of the left temple as the man tried to stay upright with every fiber of his strength left.

"Nothing..." came the gravelly and husky voice of the swordsman who began to sway slightly in front of him, causing him to tighten his grip on the trembling shoulder, "happened!"

Those strangled words twisted around the cook's heart, ripping through his mind with a ravaging sting. "Z-Zoro..."

Suddenly, the swaying stopped and the hulking man before him began to fall forward, but Sanji was faster than that, jumping front of him and catching him by the shoulders, lowering his body gently to the stones below, placing his head heavily in his own lap, "Zoro!"

The man's breathing was heavy, labored and pinched, as he struggled to remain conscious, even if it was just for a few more moments, "S-Sanji..."

The cook's eyes widened at the breathy and pleading quality in the swordsman's voice, reaching a hand down to smear some of the blood off of his face, wiping it up with the coat-sleeve that was still intact.

The man in his arms began to cough violently, his body wracked with pain and tremors as his lungs tried to expel all the blood from themselves. He wheezed heavily against the black fabric of the blonde's trousers, coughing up more blood and staining them crimson.

Sanji's heart clenched in his chest, "Zoro, what the hell happened here? And don't you _dare_ say nothing again. I'll knock you the rest of the way unconscious..."

The man leaned into the lithe fingers that were wiping the blood from his cheeks, as if searching for some amount of comfort, some escape from the agony his body was in. "Zoro, please..."

At those words, the man beneath him stilled, ragged breath now shallow in his chest, eyes sliding shut as he tried to calm his heartbeat, dulling the pain slightly, enough to speak properly, "It doesn't matter..."

Then he dissolved into another coughing fit, body racking violently with the tremors, as Sanji ran a soothing hand through the matted green hair, "Why aren't you dead..."

Zoro smirked softly through his pain, eyes sliding shut, "What, disappointed?"

Sanji didn't notice the hand that slid up his chest until it was too late, bruised fingers knotting in black polyester and yanking his face down into a clumsy, but scorching kiss.

No more words were spoken as the green-haired swordsman fell unconscious...but then again, Sanji didn't really need to hear anymore. As the blonde hoisted the limp man over is back, struggling for a moment before standing and making his way back to the courtyard, he smirked softly, his lips still tingling from the surprisingly affectionate assault, knowing that eventually he would figure it all out.

* * *

He took a long drag on his cigarette, nicotine coating every crevice of his lungs as he sat on that wooden crate beside the marimo's mattress in the mansion, watching as the little reindeer worked on his wounds. He watched those small hooves glide effortlessly over the bruised flesh, dancing over bandages and stitches wit practiced ease.

He could make out the beginnings of a conversation as Luffy and Franky filed in, followed by a few others, carrying huge loads of food for the remaining survivors over their shoulders. "This is the first time Zoro's been this badly injured...he was really close to dying."

Sanji could feel the flinch on his brow before he could control it, a deep sadness filling his heart at the memory of Zoro's state in the woods...the sacrifice he had made for him and the rest of the crew. "I just know it...something must have happened to him...while we were unconscious..."

As the voice of the ship's doctor faded out, the blonde took another long drag on his nicotine stick, letting his hand fall to the knee that was propped up on the adjacent crate, his new black pants and turquoise hoodie freshly laundered and fitted to him nicely. He could feel the hollowed out eyes of that skeleton man on him, bearing into him as if he knew something about the cook that he probably shouldn't.

Raising his hand up to his forehead, he adjusted the white bandaged wrap there, untucking his hair from the folds of it, allowing it to fall flat against his head in golden layers. The voice of Robin filled the space around him as she and Usopp made there way to the bedside, "Indeed. It is hard to believe that that man would just leave like that."

The long-nosed sharpshooter beside her answered back quickly, "It's also weird that Luffy is so energetic all of a sudden, isn't it?"

Sanji could feel his chest tighten again, sucking harder on his cigarette as he stared blankly at the floor, trying to conceal any emotions that may be playing behind his eyes, knowing nothing about what the hell had happened and not feeling right about it at all... _No one should have to endure what he did in silence...even if he is a big dumb brute that takes up space most of the time_...

He drifted off in his thoughts, fingering the medical patch on the side of his face, until an unfamiliar voice broke through the air, "What happened, huh? Actually, I saw it all!"

His head snapped to the side, frowning deeply and locking his startling blue eyes onto the speaker as the boasting continued, another man jumping forward, "I saw it all, too!"

"Yeah, we'll tell you!" the other answered back.

Sanji wasn't going to sit around and deal with any more of this shit right now and, standing from his spot on the crates, dusting his pants off slightly, he stalked casually over to the two clowns, tucking his arms under their shoulders and began dragging them backwards out of the hole in the side of the building, "Hey..." he grunted as he pushed them out.

He could hear Luffy speak his name in question, Robin's 'hmm' of contemplation, and Ussop's puzzled 'huh', but he kept on walking.

Upon exiting the building, he shoved to two men into the sun as they began to protest, "Wait, why? You were pretty cool too, you know! 'Take my life instead of the swordsman's', you know?"

He grunted in frustration, raising a hand to massage the bridge of his nose, taking a seat on one of the larger stones and steeling himself for what was to come, "Shut up! Hurry up and tell me."

Leaning his elbows over his knees, he hung his head slightly, "What happened afterwards...after I fainted, I mean?"

That's when the confessions began, the men recounting the previous days events in graphic detail, "Well, that Warlord had another crazy power, you see! He just put his paw on Straw Hat Luffy, and repelled all of the damage that had been inflicted on him!"

Sanji's eyes widened slightly, not liking the sound of where this was going, "Damage...?" he inquired softly.

"Yeah, like a huge ball of agony! And then..."

"He told the swordsman that if he wished to take his place, then he was going to have to take in all of this ball of pain!" the other man interrupted.

Sanji blinked for a moment as the other continued, "But he said that if someone who was as close to death as Zoro was tried to do this that it would be impossible for him to survive. He would surely die!"

Sanji's eyes popped open wide, letting the words sink in, the smaller of the two brutes continuing the tale, "He gave him just a little tiny ball of it, like a taste of what was to come. He could barely handle it, writhing on the ground in agony as if he was dying! Just touching that tiny bit of it, that swordsman screamed in pain!"

Sanji grasped onto his cigarette, his jaw set firmly and eyes bearing into a tree in the distance as he continued to listen, anger settling into his veins.

"Sorry, but I seriously thought that swordsman was gonna die. So, we actually cried!"

"We cried a lot!" the other chimed in.

Sanji let out a lungful of smoke, gritting his teeth together before sighing in understanding, "I see...Then that's why Luffy is in perfect shape, while Zoro ended up like that...How reckless..."

His memory was flooded with the images of Zoro standing in that little alcove, drenched in his own blood and stone-still in the sunlight, body obviously in agony. He remembered his words, the muttering that nothing had happened and it wasn't important...didn't matter. _That jackass_...

Letting out another deep stream of nicotine-laced smoke, he hung his head even lower, sighing deeply. Suddenly he was interrupted by the excited chatter of the larger idiot, "All right!! We've gotta tell the rest of the crew this beautiful tale - "

Sanji stiffened and yelled stiffly, "Wait! Don't you go running your mouths off with that stuff!"

The two idiots turned back around, looks of disbelief on their faces, but Sanji continued, "He didn't risk his life so that we'd praise him about it."

Sighed softly, shoulders dropping lower, he snuffed out his cigarette against the stone, "And besides...how do you think Luffy would feel...? If he knew that all the pain he took on himself had gone and hurt his friend?!"

The two men blathered and stuttered for a few moments, struggling clumsily to find something to say, failing miserably. Frustrated as hell, Sanji yelled back, "You still just want to tell the stupid story?!?"

The two men deflated before him, "W-We can't say anything about it, then?"

Sanji stood from his siting position, lighting another cigarette and sticking it between his chapped lips, "As long as everyone is safe, that's all that matters."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he began to walk off, back towards to mansion, "Well, I'm gonna go eat."

* * *

The night air was slightly chilled dancing off of the blankets wrapped around his legs, spreading the stream of smoke from his cigarette around the room. The cold stone pillar behind him was hard and unforgiving, but that was okay, because he wasn't here get comfortable and sleep of the effects of the celebratory party.

No...he was here for a little one-on-one time with the unconscious swordsman, even though he knew he wouldn't be talking back...or probably even hearing a word the cook spoke.

Feeling that cool breeze flick through his hair once more, he slid a hand softly along the mattress beside him, letting his fingers lightly brush against the soft flesh of a broken wrist, careful not to injure it further.

Taking a deep breath, he sighed softly, "You know, that was absolutely crazy what you did back there. You had better be thankful that I made sure those two delinquents didn't go spreading your 'Epic Tale of the Sacrificial Bushido' to everyone in the crew. Can you imagine how upset Luffy would be if he found out you did that after all that he went through to insure that we all got out safely? The guy would be heartbroken..."

He paused to take another drag on his cigarette, leaning his body into the pillar, "But...I am glad you didn't die."

He could feel the hand he was holding the swordsman's with begin to tremble, moisture building behind his eyes as he grew more frustrated, "Why, Zoro, why couldn't you let me do it...? Why do you always have to go and hurt yourself...why can't you let someone else take the pain for once? We're all strong too!!"

But then gasped slightly, realization sinking in as his own words reached his ears, his heart constricting in his chest. He could feel a lone tear track its way down his right cheek, disappearing into the patch beneath it. He felt so stupid...

"Right...I get it. I'm not strong _enough_...and you knew that."

Tightening his grip slightly on the bandaged wrist below, he thumbed softly over the callused palm, feeling the burns and scrapes littering the flesh there. "I'm...sorry...for getting in your way."

He was about to remove his hand, when suddenly the limp fingers tightened around his own tense ones, stilling his movements and stopping his heart. He gasped softly, more tears springing from his eyes and sliding down his cheeks as he heard a soft moan from the man beside him, "You're...n-never...in the...way."

The broad chested man breathed heavily, filling his lungs and stilling any possible coughing that may have followed with long, hard swallows. "T-Thirsty..."

Pulling out of his stupor and coming to his senses, Sanji fumbled over to the large faucet across the room, filling a cup with the clear fluid and stumbling back over to the mattress, lacking his usual calm finesse in the simple task.

Reaching the incapacitated man, he slowly slid his left hand beneath the green-haired head, lifting it up enough to give him room to swallow comfortably. Raising the cup to the swordsman's cracked lips, he tipped it just enough to allow a small amount of the liquid to pour into waiting mouth below.

As the swordsman slowly imbibed the liquid, Sanji watched in awe at his conscious state, wondering if he was still in pain, his thoughts drifting back to the confessions of the two men earlier, and the torture he had endured for all of their sakes.

As the moss-head finished the drink, Sanji placed it on the small table that held Chopper's medicine's, allowing the bushido's head to rest back on the pillow below. Not able to resist speaking, the blonde muttered softly, covering the marimo with a thin blue blanket, "You're an idiot, you know that...?"

When Zoro didn't say anything, the blonde flopped down onto the foot of mattress, crossing an ankle over his knee and resting his wrists along the bridge his leg created. It was then that Zoro chose to look him in the eye, jade clashing with baby blue as the tension grew around them.

His breath hitched when a frown made its way across the swordsman's brow, and rough and callused hand sliding up to brush fingertips over slick cheeks, damp with forgotten tears that continued to fall. Sanji's reflex was to pull back and turn his face away, but Zoro, even in his sluggish and stiff state, was faster than him, switching his hand to the other cheek and pulling his face back to look at him again.

Those jade eyes widened for a moment, taking in the tears now running freely down Sanji's face, fingers sliding back to bury themselves in the cook's soft hair, tugging him closer, so close that he could hear the blonde's pulse beating harshly in his ears.

The grip softened slightly, and he gently cradled Sanji's cheek in his large palm, guiding his lips to meet his own: chaste and unhurried, lazy and filled with everything that he didn't know how to say at that moment in time.

Tongues slid against one another, but this was not a battle for anything. It was a message from one man to the other, silent but full, and sealed with the promise of something better to come.

Ignoring the pain coursing through his body, Zoro settled his other hand on Sanji's right wrist, pulling the man slowly and carefully to kneel beside him, pulling his face deeper into the kiss and ravishing his mouth with soft and leisurely licks and nips.

"You have to stop doing this...getting hurt...almost dying...scaring me," Sanji whispered against those bruised lips below him, breaking the kiss to pull back and stare at the wounded man beneath him.

They stared at each other, neither willing to break the other's gaze...until Zoro rolled his eyes softly, smirking with the right corner of his lips, sliding his limp fingertips over the patch on the cook's cheek and the bandage wrapped around his head, "I'll stop getting hurt the day you stop pissing me off..."

It was Sanji's turn to roll his eyes in exasperation and humor, laughter dancing behind his drying sapphire eyes, "...which is probably never going to happen."

Zoro smirked slightly, closing his eyes as exhaustion retook him, pulling the tired cook down beside him and throwing the blanket over them both, "Well, I'm glad we can agree on something..."


	9. Defrost

Title: Defrost

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Rating: PG

Warning: yaoi, language

Word Count: 300

Topic: Christmas/spirit of giving

Bitter chill seeped past the cracks of the galley door, piercing through the heat given off by the small stove and slithering icily against the pale flesh of the blonde's feet, the black trouser socks no match for that frigid wisp of air.

Lifting the shivering limb, he proceeded to rub the chill away, sliding his foot harshly and briskly against the thick fabric of his nylon pant leg, never wavering even slightly in his appointed task of preparing cinnamon cookies for his crew.

Stepping back a few feet, he pulled open the door to the stainless steel oven with a thick red mitt, sighing softly as the dry heat wafted over his cool cheeks and nose, blanketing him in comfortable warmth as he placed the prepared cookie sheet atop the shelf.

As he lifted his hands to reach for the leftover ingredients, he was suddenly accosted by a great gust of painfully cold wind, the galley door bursting open, causing his hands to fly to his arms instead, rubbing viciously against the onslaught of the unwelcome temperature.

"Shit…" he muttered softly, turning his head to glare at whoever was responsible for the intrusion.

But before he could utter another word in protest, the weight of heavy fabric was placed atop his shoulders, warmth instantly flooding his being.

Strong, tan arms encircled his torso, pressing his back to a firm chest as heat passed from the green-haired first-mate to the now sighing chef.

His eyes widened for a moment before sliding closed at the sensation of searing lips at the back of his neck, teasingly tickling the base of his golden hairline.

"Merry Christmas, shit-cook…" were the only gruff words uttered by the larger man as he wrapped the shoddily knitted, baby blue blanket around the thin frame before him.


	10. Existentialism

Title: Existentialism

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Rating: R

Warning: sexual content, language, adult content

Topic: Nightmare

* * *

~***Existentialism***~

* * *

Blackness – a piercing darkness that smothered his sight and plunged him into a world of night and bleak uncertainty. Clawing at the edge of his senses, his breath was failing him, threatening to leave him entirely in this abyss of fear and anxiety.

Voice – a hushed but eerie whisper in his ear, cackling laughs of ill-intent setting worry deep within his tortured mind. Something foul was drawing near, and he was powerless to oppose it, merely a prisoner in his own unconsciousness.

Pain – a searing, aching, burning tear that ripped through his subconscious, pulling silent screams of frustration and pleas for absolution from his phantom lips. A new agony wrought from dark memories of a life he could have saved – a friend he was forced to witness rot away and fade before his ice-blue eyes, wide with flooded reverie and anguish.

But then that too was fading away…

An unanticipated relief washed over in the manifestation of blessed consciousness when strong, familiar, arms came to encircle his shoulders, pulling him tightly against an equally strong, equally familiar body.

"Shh…breathe, shit-cook. It's over now. I'm still here."

Those words – that voice…so rich and deep and so goddamn welcome, embraced him, his eyes quickly moistening with the force of his relief and realization of his position, encased in the warmth and comfort of the one man that could cause these haunting dreams to both form and abate.

Deceptively soft lips found their way to his sweaty temple, and a rough and callused hand stroked across his slick forehead, pushing his now damp bangs away from his eyes, allowing him to blearily open them to take in the figure beside him.

That scorching mouth made it's way gently and lazily down his flushed cheek, sliding breathlessly across to capture his own panting lips in a slow, heavy kiss – as if trying to pry any remnants of the nightmare from his exhausted and shaken body.

The rough hand's partner found it's rhythm stroking lazy, soothing patterns along the blonde's bare back, tracing the subtle muscles and sharp ribs beneath the pale, alabaster flesh, heated from both sleep and touch.

A soft whimper betrayed him, slipping past his gasping lips, disappearing into that demanding and overwhelming mouth against his own. It only seemed to fuel the other on, a hand plunging into his hairline at the back of his neck, massaging relaxing trails through his damp scalp.

Any lingering worry or anxiety faded away as the hand at his back slipped swiftly between their bodies, disappearing below the waistband of his black sweatpants to curl skilled digits around his half-hard member, wringing a sharp moan of surprise from his lips.

His overly sensitive flesh hung heavier as it filled with growing desire, expanding quickly beneath that callused grip stroking him softly yet firmly into full arousal.

Pulling a soft whine from his willing lips, the swordsman attacked that wanton mouth with a renewed fervor, using his free hand to shove the offending black fabric further down those slender, ivory legs.

The cook gasped softly as cold air rushed against his heated flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine. The sensations were almost too much for his already weakened defenses, unable to hold back any soft whimpers or moans of pleasure.

It wasn't long before he came – hot, hard, and shamelessly – against the swordsman's fingers, coating them and his own clenched abdominal muscles. Those sinfully careful lips muffled and swallowed any cry that managed to slip past his throat at the moment of mind-blowing release.

As he began to retreat down from his peak, spasms and aftershocks rocking his trembling body, he could feel the hot breath gliding against his earlobe.

"Feel better?"

He was too exhausted to even nod in affirmation, but that didn't stop him from settling for snuggling his body tightly against his silent guardian and thanking whatever deity that might have been in their presence that night for his faithful warrior.

While this stubborn man might have been the reason for his recurring nightmares, he was also the only one who never failed at showing him just how real he still was… that, while nightmares warped for the worse every night, only one thing could remain constant: an unconditional commitment between the two figures locked together that not even those false realities could attempt to overcome.


	11. Captivation

Rating: PG

Warning: language

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Timeline: Sometime after Enies Lobby

* * *

~*Captivation*~

* * *

Running a trembling hand slowly and reluctantly across the fogged mirror to clear the blurry moisture, he couldn't stop the sigh that escaped his slightly chapped lips. He never got used to this moment, no matter how many thousands of times he had stood in this very position, wiping the vision clear and taking in the heart-wrenching view.

Staring at his pale, lithe form in the glass, white towel slung low on his lean hips, he dipped his chin slightly, feeling his flesh buzz at the anticipation he always harbored for this one miserable moment a day.

In truth, it really wasn't that horrible of a sight. But to someone like Sanji, who took great pride in his appearance and presentation…it was nothing short of painful.

So painfully distracting that he almost didn't hear the heavy boot-steps that pushed the door open and thumped over to stand directly behind him. He'd have to commit to memory the fact that there was now a lock on the bathroom door of the new ship, the Thousand Sunny…not that it would make much of a difference to the intruder.

Hard, callused hands glided with an unexpected gentleness up his long, ivory arms braced upon the porcelain lavatory, coming to softly massage his tense shoulders free of the newest knotted muscles.

A small sigh of gratitude fell from his mouth as he leaned back into the welcoming embrace, strong arms crossing over his tight, alabaster chest. The heated tan flesh standing out in stark contrast to the nearly colorless skin it rested against.

A firm chin slid to lay along the junction between neck and shoulder, planting a soft, chaste kiss along the pulsing tendon, then – for one terrifying moment – their eyes met in the mirror; dark jade locking onto one sparkling, but nervous, ice-blue orb.

Smaller, shaking hands came to grasp the caramel-colored forearms across his chest, squeezing tightly as if a silent plea to never let go. But that's exactly what the beneath arm did, sliding from below the clutched limb and trailing slowly up the collar bone and neck, coming to rest on a sharp chin.

He could feel himself tense, regardless of the familiarity of this touch and the frequency of this moment. No matter how many times Zoro had forced this revelation…it never got any easier and he was always filled with such nervous anticipation that one day the swordsman would decide that he didn't like was he saw.

But Zoro knew these thoughts, every fear and discomfort that plagued the pale cook in his grasp. He never forgot the images that scared the cook out of his wits, no matter how the bastard tried to conceal it. He knew his weaknesses…but he would never use them against him.

That was the unspoken code between the two pirates: Never use the other's grave weaknesses to defeat them.

Sanji never stabbed at the swordsman about his promise and devotion to the dead dojo girl that made him who he was that day. Zoro never kicked the martial artist in the back over this one dark secret that only he and Chopper were privy to.

The bushido, on the other hand, considered it somewhat of an honor that he was the only one, save the furry little doctor, that was allowed to slide his hand beneath that heavy golden bang that concealed the left half of the cook's face.

Sliding his fingers through the baby-fine strands, he pushed the barrier back, and the smaller man flinched visibly.

Staring at the one part of Sanji that was uncharacteristically out of place, Zoro couldn't help but wonder what was so earth-shattering about this deviation. Why the cook was so keen on keeping this one slight malformation hidden was beyond his realm of understanding, because in all actuality, it wasn't that bad. Zoro had scars and he didn't try to hide them...why should Sanji?

"Open your eyes, Sanji…"

He could feel the trembling of that lithe man against him, those lids slowly lifting to reveal two contrasting visuals.

Sanji's right eye was clear and blue as an overcast sky – an icy reminder of the sometimes-cold personality – but also sparkling like the amazing man that everyone knew he was beneath that hard-ass façade. This was the eye that narrowed during fights, squinted with laughter at the captain's antics, took on a heart-like quality in the presence of the ladies, and frowned with concern when something unfortunate happened to one of his nakama.

But the left eye…

This orb was a startling white, clouded over with blindness and discolored from an old infection. The whites were tinged with grey, and the pupil was milky with cataract-like appearance. Where there was once a twin blue iris was only a sickly pale reminder of the life that once flourished beneath the haze.

But though this dysfunctional eye brought Sanji much pain and sorrow…Zoro found a strange fascination with it – thinking it even more captivating than the still working one.

Sanji felt himself shrink under the heavy scrutiny of that green gaze, unable to do anything but avert his half-functional sight to the sink below. A tug on his forehead where a sturdy palm rested quickly righted the situation, his frightened eyes locking fearfully onto the others'.

"Go ahead…say it's ugly. Call me a freak and get it over with…"

Zoro didn't frown or protest, instead closing his eyes softly and burying his nose in the freshly clean, damp blonde hair, "You're still beautiful."

He could feel the man tensing once more, so he continued, "Hey…I know you hate it when I say that, but honestly that's all I can come up with. It doesn't make you a woman. Beauty isn't reserved for them alone. I find beauty in very few things: a good fight, the ocean on a clear day, reaching a goal, our crew altogether and happy…and you."

The tension flooded from the cook's frame, settling tiredly into the firm arms that held him, a lone tear streaking down his cheek from the good eye, dripping onto that well-toned forearm below.

"You idiot…" was the raspy reply, mouth quirking into grin, "I never knew you had a romantic side."

The grin was returned with a smirk of his own, "Only for you…"


	12. Ambience

Rating: PG-13

Warning: yaoi, language, adult concepts

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Timeline: Following the crew's reunion after the events of Saobody Archipelago

* * *

~*Ambience*~

* * *

Fading into a milky twilight, all the contrasting, yet complimentary colors mixed in a waltz of goodnight. Lavenders caressed tangerine that slowly encased fire in an ice-blue prison alongside cobalt and slowly approaching midnight.

The lullaby of the sea sloshed gently and rhythmically about the Adam's wood ship, slapping against the hull and splashing softly back to the dark recesses below.

The gentle sounds of the whale's mating calls in the distance mingling with the subtle whistling of the breeze against the vessel's railings drifted down to the silent figures relaxed against the outer wall of the galley, soaking in the ambience of another calm night on the Thousand Sunny.

Moments like these between the two pirates were rare – a silence between nakama that followed the stresses and fights of the day…the quiet moments between sunset and dark night where time and place didn't matter and all of the worries of their present situation in the New World were superfluous. Now, in this stillness, everything was peaceful and right – all negativity far from them and all differences pushed aside.

A mess of mossy-green hair relaxed heavily against a corded thigh wrapped in black polyester slacks, jade eyes hidden behind tired lids. A set of pale, lean fingers monotonously threaded themselves through the deceptively feather-soft strands, working into a calming rhythm that contradicted the fiercely nasty fight that had taken place between the two crewmates earlier that afternoon.

Neither could really understand what had started the fight, but both knew that they had been equally as harsh and unforgiving as the other.

So now both men were silent on the deck, baring their souls to the night sky and their troubles pushed out to the black sea. As those nimble fingers continued their soft path along the tan scalp below, he couldn't help but slide his own oceanic eyes shut in exhaustion.

A grateful sigh escaped the recipient of the ministrations; a strong, callused hand rose to stroke gently against the baby-soft skin of the slighter man's bare forearm – light green sleeves rolled to the elbow, jacket and striped tie long forgotten.

It was as close to an apology as either man would offer the other, and that was accepted. Because words were for the poets and the women…


	13. Addiction Part I

Title: Addiction Part I

Rating: MA/R

Warning: Swearing, adult situations, masturbation

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Concept: Sanji misses Zoro while they are apart after the events at the Archipelago.

Timeline: Shortly after the crew has been split at the Archipelago.

* * *

~***Addiction: Part I***~

* * *

As the grey smoke slid effortlessly across his palate, caressing softly against his tongue, it soothed him. The sinfully seductive way that it slithered down his throat, misting into his lungs like some intoxicating aroma, tickled the very edges of his nerves with that delightfully calming sensation that only nicotine and great sex could achieve.

This was the only time he could feel this way – that heady high that oxymoronically calmed his anxieties and drenched his sorrows in his terribly unhealthy addiction.

It was a cheap excuse to break away from the miserable life he had been forced to adopt on this strangely vile island; it was a horribly inadequate substitute for the lost sensations that truly lit his flesh on fire and caused his blood to boil within his veins. Feeling and touch he had been loath to admit that he craved so agonizingly…those phantom fingertips that had been absent from his trembling skin for far too long.

Running his pale, narrow fingers along the cool white banister of the expensive balcony, he exhaled the coveted drug from his airway with a heavy sigh. His head bowed slightly, sandy-colored blonde hair swaying with the breeze, concealing the left half of his face in shadow, as the longer strands in the back tickled the inside of his collar. He would need a haircut soon, for it had been nearly four months since his last one, and that was back at the Archipelago.

Four months…that was how long he had been on this God-forsaken Okama Island. It had gotten far easier to deal with the eccentric locals – once they had stopped chasing after him with pink frocks and high-heels and had accepted him as a real man – but it didn't make him feel any less homesick for the Sunny and it's crew.

Running his empty left hand through his now shoulder-length blonde mane, he crushed the end of his now worn-down cigarette into the clear glass ashtray provided. Staring one last time at the empty seascape across the small beach below his generously gifted room, he closed his eyes slowly, just wishing that he could know _something_ about _anything_ regarding his crewmates.

Tugging slightly at his jet black tie, he loosened the offending garment, pulling it over his head and tossing it onto a plush chair against the wall, retreating into his room silently. His deep plum-colored shirt, tucked into those form-fitted black slacks, was rolled up to the elbows and wrinkled slightly from leaning over the railing for so long, but it was still in amazing condition when compared to how his clothes usually held up on the ship.

Unbuttoning the top three buttons of his dress-shirt, he sank into the thick mattress in the center of his posh queen-sized bed. He still didn't know how he had managed to sweet-talk the rich little Okama into letting him stay with 'her' free of charge, but he supposed he could deal with a little visual harassment every now and then if it meant that he had a roof over his head and access to a pristine kitchen.

The luxury was amazing, and the company was satisfactory, for the most part…but it didn't stop him from wishing every single night that he would wake up the next morning on the Thousand Sunny, in an uncomfortable hammock, to the sounds of Luffy's soft snores and Usopp's sleep-talking.

But the thing that he missed most wasn't the jovial laughter of the two females, or the scent of fresh coffee in the pot at breakfast; nor was it the sound of the waves crashing against the hull, as he was lulled to sleep. No…it was something far less customary and far more infuriating.

The one thought that wouldn't be pushed from his already exhausted mind was the image of that moss-haired, sword-wielding warrior that couldn't tell his left from right.

And it pissed Sanji off…

It sent him into an inner rage that he was so affected by the idiot swordsman, requiring him in special doses, like some daily medication that was currently sending him into mental withdrawals at the distance and time. The days were longer now that he had no annoying bastard to spar with…

But the thought of an angry game of step-to-steel contact wasn't the memory that was causing his right hand to unconsciously knot in the soft fabric of his shirt, yanking the tails swiftly from his slacks with a groan of frustration. It wasn't the reverie of flying curses and a split lip that beckoned his nimble fingers to loosen the belt at his hips…to unfasten the bindings that closed his thick trousers.

And it most definitely wasn't the memory of those strong, callused hands slamming his shoulders against the galley wall that drove his own softer hand beneath the elastic of his dark blue boxer-briefs to grasp at hot, hardening flesh that betrayed him.

Pretense be damned, he needed this more than he needed anything else at that moment – the sensation of long fingers curled around heated flesh, teasing at all the most sensitive places and pulling, with long and lazy strokes, tightening a knot in his lower abdomen.

As his breath came in short, chopped gasps, he slid his oceanic eyes closed, his golden hair spilling across the white silken pillows as his body writhed against his own fingers. An identical set of digits found their way quickly to the clear buttons on his shirt, deftly unfastening them with a practiced ease, baring his now glistening torso to the cool night air. His abdominal muscles were long and lean, taut from years of mastery in both martial arts and proper nutrition, and he sighed softly as his own fingertips slid delicately along the dips and curves of each swell of subtle ridges beneath alabaster flesh.

Visions of blurred green and toasty flesh burned behind his lids; a body harder and broader than his own grinding torturously against his trembling hips, rock-hard muscles sliding with a delicious friction against his own…

He couldn't do anything but whimper helplessly as he thoughtlessly jerked his pants down to his knees, cool air hitting blazing heat with a shock, a hand returning to the now leaking hardness with a renewed fervor.

Then there was the memory of that night before they had docked in the Archipelago, that sinfully decadent boldness that had soaked their minds and caused that lust to emerge from some deeply hidden cavern in their souls.

Charging forward in thoughtless ecstasy, his own right digits acted as ghost fingers plunging between his panting lips just as those purposeful ones had done naught but 4 months ago, slicking them thoroughly in moisture before retreating as quickly as they had entered.

Without missing a beat, they trailed swiftly down his hard stomach, across a sharp hipbone, and down below his quickly working left hand to tease at the now tight ring of tissue that was practically begging to be breached…though not by his own.

A deep moan slid past his slightly chapped lips as he squeezed his eyes shut, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he slipped two fingers past that band of muscles. He had to grasp tightly at his base to keep from falling over the edge right then, but managed to tame the monster inside of him a few degrees.

His pale knees came to rest on the mattress beside his ribcage, spreading himself as wide as he dared to go at the moment, fingers working slowly to pull and press his muscles loose for a phantom girth that would never come…but that didn't matter at the moment. The only thing that did was the white heat that was beginning to pool in his belly, spreading through his body in tiny shocks, causing his frame to tremble with an unanticipated adrenaline and terrible arousal.

Images of deep jade eyes caressing his face, a white-hot tongue sliding over his throat, and a blunt hardness nudging at his entrance made him double his efforts to bring himself off as quickly as possible. He whined pitifully as his fingers dipped and curled, searching frantically for that sweet spot as his left hand jerked with erratic strokes over his swollen flesh, mere whispers of the glorious technique those sword-worn hands were capable of.

"Oh, God…"

A damning name fell from his lips as he strained to maintain some form of a rhythm between his jerking left palm and twisting right digits. His shirt was thrown open, revealing every inch of his naked body, his knees raising off of the mattress as he pulled them wider, spreading himself even further as those long fingers pushed impossibly deep.

His eyes snapped open, startled blue flashing and a strangled cry falling from his lips as his index finger scraped against that bundle of nerves, sending a sudden overwhelming jolt of absolute perfection down his spine. He reached over and over for that same angle, hitting it with more force than before, his body jerking and writhing with such a heavenly agony.

He could no longer contain his grunts and whines as he thrust his hips forward, impaling himself on his substitute fingers as he forced them back into his body to press his sweet spot harshly, nearly undoing himself. But something kept him right at the edge, a mere centimeter from tipping over and falling into an amazing orgasm. He groaned in frustration, whimpering as he fought to achieve his peak; impaling, stabbing, jerking, and thrusting himself with reckless abandon.

Growling in irritation he removed both hands from their duties for just long enough to flip himself onto his knees, burying his face into the pillow below. He cried out softly into the silken fabric as he plunged his fingers back through the now pliable muscles, his left hand resuming it's quick pace. He fought desperately to decide whether he wanted to push his hips back against the digits or forward into his working hand.

With one final thought, he stabbed forcefully at his bundle of nerves, thrusting his hips forward with a sobbing cry, tears spilling from his eyes as he emptied himself violently upon the bed sheets. He couldn't keep the tremors from his cries away, his shoulders shaking with both the force of his orgasm and the pent up emotions. He pulled his right hand rapidly from his heat, slamming it down onto the bed to steady himself from the force of his release.

He saw ever color of the rainbow as he achieved his peak, sailing over the clouds and falling at great speeds back to the world below, as if they were descending from Skypiea all over again; and all he could feel was Zoro – strong, solid, and a rock that he wished to hold onto once more.

But that rock of a man was God knows where…so far away from him at that moment. He didn't now if he was dead or alive, injured or well, and it was killing him inside, even as he slowly retreated back from his high.

He managed to pull the soiled shirt from his shoulders, tossing it to some unknown location in the room, and ripped the stained sheets back to crawl shakily beneath. Exhaustion took him over and he collapsed into a broken heap as he yanked the comforter over his bare, trembling flesh; he fisted his hands with what little strength remained, grasping a pillow and hugging it tightly to his chest.

Clinging to the softness as if his life somehow depended upon it, he could hold back the torrents of emotion no longer, spilling them with muffled cries into the pillowcase. Hot, sticky tears streamed from his brilliant blue eyes, dripping onto the mattress below as his body shook with sobs of both loneliness and disappointment.

"Dammit…you moss-headed bastard…. I _really_ miss you."


	14. Understanding

Title: Understanding

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Rating: PG - Work Safe

Genre: Drama/Romance

A/N: I am not dead! I have returned and brought fluff along with me. Enjoy!

* * *

He knows that they have it backwards and always have. Relationships are supposed to start with common interests, mutual attraction, stimulating conversation, and sacrifice. Theirs started with fights, bloodshed, curse words, and mutual regrets.

He understands that no matter how hard they might try, they will never be able to have a 'normal' companionship, but somehow that is okay. Because, in the end, all that really matters is that they have each other to come home to, and even that is in jeopardy at the current time.

They both know better than anyone that it could all end one day, just as quickly as it had begun, and that's okay, too.

But _he_ doesn't want to think about that...

He doesn't want to humor the thought that someday, be it tomorrow or twenty years from now, either one of them could die. The swordsman could lose his life at the end of another's blade, cold and sharp and piercing through already scarred flesh, before he ever becomes the 'World's Greatest'.

The martial artist might meet his end by falling, knocked unconscious, into the ocean that is not the one he has been searching for with all the vigor he could sustain over the course of his young life.

He understands that life is usually far shorter than normal for those like themselves - the ones who choose to live theirs out on the treacherous waters, seeking nearly impossible dreams with all that they have to offer. He realizes that one, or both, of them might never see those goals to fruition.

But that's just as acceptable as everything else. Because it is a gamble, a wager that they take stepping out onto that deck each time, to hoist the sails.

Sometimes he wonders if they made the right decisions by joining up with Luffy...then he remembers.

He remembers everything that man has done, and will continue to do, for them - never asking anything in return. He recalls the sacrifices that Luffy has made for all of them aboard the Thousand Sunny, and reminds himself, until the next time, to never doubt his decision again.

They trusted each other implicitly, regardless of the manner in which they interacted aboard the ship. They all trusted that they would not allow themselves, or one another, to die before their dreams had been realized and goals had been met.

They knew, and understood, each other in ways that they couldn't comprehend themselves, and had no doubts that if separated, they would one day meet again.

That is why, in this moment, as Sanji overlooks the sunset from his balcony on Kamabakka, he has no doubt in his mind that he will see his crew-mates again. They will all be brought back together in two years time, and they will all be stronger than they were before.

True, they are all stranded in different locations, but it is not the end.

And Sanji is positive of this.

In two years, they will meet again at Saboady Archipelago - just as their captain has commanded.

Because they are all Straw Hat Pirates, but more than that, they are all _nakama_.

Sometimes, if Sanji listens closely enough, he can still hear the laughter of his captain; the yells of indignation from his sweet navigator; the soft vibrations of the violin; the faint click of softened hooves; the quiet sighs from his beautiful historian; the boasting calls of the sniper; and the vibrant chuckles from the shipwright.

But most of all, if he tries really hard, he can remember the soft snores; the metallic 'clang' of three blades; the grunts of approval; and the deep baritone...But usually he tries to avoid the latter, opting instead to turn his mind to more 'general' thoughts.

On quiet evenings, such as these, he attempts to silence those memories; because he doesn't want to miss them anymore than he has to. Sometimes he wishes that he hadn't survived that final battle...preferring instead to have not been forced to endure this separation. Sometimes he wonders what death would feel like...

But then he reminds himself that it's impossible to forget, and that he is only a coward for even imagining the 'easy way out'.

One day, they will stand before each other again, and prove, once more, that they can make the impossible a reality. They will be stronger, smarter, and even more hopeful for the future than they ever have been before. Indeed, they are certifiably insane; but some of the greatest people in history have been crazy as well...


	15. Addiction Part II

Zoro had expected to see several things upon his return to the Archipelago.

He was unsurprised that the tattooed witch of a Navigator had decided to grow her carrot-red hair down to her waist and wear even less clothing than before - she always had been an attention whore.

He was unfazed by the fact that their marksman had developed a solid layer of muscle that rivaled his own - he might even say that he had expected the coward to make something of himself over their time apart.

Chopper...well, he looked basically the same as he had the last time the swordsman had seen him. Small, fluffy, and hyper as ever - not that it was a bad thing at all, he rather like the amusement that the youngest member of their crew managed to pull out of him.

He couldn't say that he was shocked that their robot shipwright had decided to give himself a full-body makeover, gleaming in the evening sunset like polished glass - though he had hoped the speedo would have been replaced with something a bit more conducive to their occupations.

Brooke was, well...he was much more...colorful? What could he say, it was almost terrifying to wonder just what the other had been up to in the last twenty-four months.

Even the tall, dark, and obviously unashamed historian, clad in her sarong and v-neck dress shirt failed to hold his attention, no matter how long she sipped knowingly at a frosty purple cocktail beverage - he preferred blondes anyway.

It could be said that his captain had sparked interest for a few moments at the sight of the jagged scar in the center of his chest, surely from some inhuman impact that had probably almost cost him his life - but, soon, that too faded from the forefront of his mind.

Normally these things would have fascinated him, but there was one aspect of all of it that pulled every ounce of his waking attention, and had from the moment it had walked down the shore of that beach to bring him back home. That detail was walking toward the table, carrying a heaping plate of lobster, scallops, shrimp, and oysters.

Zoro took a fortifying drink as he pulled his gaze to one of normalcy, deciding instead to focus on the meal before him. The task proved to be more difficult than he had previously expected.

The damned object of his frustration decided that now would be the perfect time to begin undressing, shedding first his black suit jacket before yanking his burnt-orange tie loose and tossing it onto the cleaned counter behind him. That matching dress shirt, with the top three buttons undone, clung to his lean frame perfectly, showing off the slender shape of his torso and the lithe length of his toned arms as he unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled the sleeves up to the elbows.

Zoro was a bit startled by his immediate involuntary reaction to salivate, and decided to cover it up with another thick swallow of grog. He tried not to look at the way those toned thighs rippled against the tight fabric of his skinny black pants, clinging to his narrow hips like a glove, leaving no curve of that firm ass to the imagination. The bastard had never had any shame, why should he start now...?

Zoro had wanted to kiss him right there - to grab the snarky bastard by the front of his neatly-pressed dress shirt, and crush his lips to the other's. He figured it probably had something to do with the relief of being reunited once again, coupled with the joy of finally being able to continue their journey toward their life-goals.

The swordsman had been far happier to see the asshole than he probably should have been, and he couldn't help but smirk internally at the arrogant look tinged with disbelief when their eyes had met for the first time in over two years on that beach. It was normally a look that Zoro would have no hesitation in trying to slice right off of that pretty face with a well-place sword, but this time all he had wanted to do was cover that smug mouth with his own and devour him until he had gotten his fill.

They had found each other again, even though Zoro was perfectly content in denying that he had actually been looking for the blonde cook who looked far too handsome for only two years of growing up. While the chain-smoking chef was both slender and pretty in the face, there was nothing 'girly' about him. It was almost too much for Zoro's brain that he couldn't figure out why the bastard was so much more appealing now.

He sat back in his seat with a sigh and decided that he wasn't going to think about Sanji anymore until after dinner and few more drinks...and maybe a nice cold shower to round out the night before he curled up in his hammock and tried to forget about it all over again.

-

The green-haired first mate might not have wanted to think about the blue-eyed martial artist, but his brain and body had a different idea - a very different idea from his resolve. His brain had decided that instead of ignoring the situation and finding other, more productive things to focus on, it wanted to absorb every bit of the slightly older man in excruciating detail - logging them away to become potential problems later that night when all he would want to do is sleep.

His body could practically feel the phantom lips upon his own; the soft skin beneath his callused fingers as they slid lightly over ribs, waist, hips, thighs...

He had to shake his head clear for the moment, feeling his heart skip as his eyes met those of the object of concern. Startling azure locked onto him, one orb clearly displayed, the other peeking out through a thin fringe of fine, golden hair. He hadn't felt this unsettled in a long time.

The swordsman had been so distracted with his musings that he hadn't noticed how the meal had ended and the galley cleared of the usual patrons, save himself and the blonde cook. And that asshole was smirking at him, as if he already knew all of the frustrating thoughts running through the bushido's head.

Zoro didn't question his instincts anymore and decided that he probably wouldn't have been able to hold out much longer anyway. So he did the only logical thing – rose from his seat, crossed the five large steps to the cook, grabbed the collar of the blonde's shirt, and crushed their lips together in a nearly bruising kiss.

Sanji stiffened a bit against him, jerking slightly at the impulsive invasion of his personal space, but began to relax slightly as a callused hand found its way to the back of his head, cradling the crown of his skull through silky blonde layers. Zoro wasted no time in slipping his tongue between those surprised lips, drawing his own breath as those long, nimble digits fisted in the dark green fabric that covered his own chest.

That mouth tasted exactly how he remembered it: of tobacco and coffee. The blonde slowly relaxed against him, fingers sliding tentatively along the edges of his green hakama robe, inadvertently teasing the hot flesh of the swordsman's tan chest. A soft moan slipped from the younger man's throat as Zoro caught the cook's lower lip between his teeth to nibble lightly before capturing that panting mouth once more.

Using his weight to maintain the advantage, he pressed the lean body against the back wall of the galley, shifting them both to slide his right knee between those toned thighs, pressing their quickly filling arousals together. He couldn't help but growl at the sensation that he had been denied for so long - that hot erection grinding against his own; that hot gasp against his lips; the clenching of those fingers in the material hanging about his own torso.

Flattening his free hand against the wall before him, he slid the other digits to the cook's belt, unhooking the clasp and tugging that shirt from the trousers with practiced ease. The blonde groaned as that questing hand found its way into his black boxer-briefs and wrapped loosely around his cock, holding it steady as he thrust upward against him. As the grip slowly tightened, a thumb sweeping over the leaking tip, the groan quickly became a strangled whimper.

"Hang on..." Zoro whispered against the cook's lips, removing his hand before hooking both thumbs in the sides of those black pants, and pulling them hurriedly down endless, sculpted legs and tossing them over his shoulder. Returning his attention to the body before him, he pressed the man roughly against the wall, meshing their mouths together once again.

His right hand slid slowly along the smooth flesh of that tight stomach, gliding over toned abdominal muscles and pushing that silk shirt up a lean chest, exposing that pale body to his hungry gaze. Goddamn...he'd gotten even hotter in the last two years.

Reaching down, Zoro wrapped his long fingers back around Sanji's length, muffling a sharp keen with another kiss as those porcelain hips bucked up, shoving his cock further into that grip. The cook was nearly frantic against him, fingers digging into the swordsman's back as he thrust upward into the pumping fist.

Blue eyes slid shut as hot lips gasped against his own, a silent plea for release, just to take the edge off, if nothing else. Not that it mattered; he wasn't about to stop for anything, not when he had the cook so close to breaking apart before him - a sight that he had longed to see for several months now.

"F-Fuck...d-don't...Ah!"

The hand slowed down around the stiff length, a clothed arousal pressing roughly against the naked flesh of a sharp hipbone. Those oceanic eyes fluttered slightly at the sensation, breath catching as rough fingers pulled away from his cock, retreating behind the swordsman's lips momentarily, before gliding once more down and over his balls, gently squeezing them, then sliding lower.

Slick fingers nudged at a tight entrance, causing the blonde to shudder slightly at the intention as a warm tongue flicked over his earlobe. Zoro's free hand grabbed the back of a toned thigh, wrapping it around his clothed hip for better access to desired areas. Teeth nipped along a pale jawline as those fingertips massaged the ring of muscles with gentle ease, slicking the opening with saliva and the pre-cum currently dribbling down that throbbing length above.

The first finger slid in easily to the last knuckle, circling gently within that tight heat as the blonde hissed with pleasure around him. The muscles contracted with frightening strength, betraying the fact that the martial artist had definitely not been with anyone else in the last several months. Zoro would wonder about how that made him feel later...but for now, the cook was still too tight.

Grabbing the back of that pale thigh, Zoro lifted the man's left knee higher, dropping his own body to a kneeling position beneath the cook. Hooking the back of that knee over his left shoulder, fingers still pumping gently within the tight heat, he leaned forward and licked a wet trail from the blonde's balls to the tip of his erection.

"Ah-fuck!"

The swordsman wasted no time in taking the full length into his mouth, curving his long, middle finger into that entrance to join the first. The swelling of that already unbearably hard cock in his mouth, accompanied by a sharp gasp from above, told the bushido that he had found what he was searching for. Pressing firmly against the bundle of nerves, he pulled off of the length, wrapping his hand around the base to stave off a premature ending.

A third finger briefly joined the others before beginning to pull out, and when the blonde started pushing back against the digits, trying to take them deeper, Zoro knew he shouldn't stall any longer.

He'd meant to go slow, to ease himself in and enjoy every noise and sensation, but the moment he'd slicked his cock and pushed through that initial tight ring, he couldn't restrain himself. He had no choice but to slide in balls-deep.

Fuck, he had forgotten how great that felt...

The swordsman paused for a moment, feeling his balls tighten dangerously too early in the act, and he clenched his teeth as he reigned in the overwhelming sensations of those velvety muscles contracting around him. It had been far too long.

Then there were words reaching his ears, words that he had never expected to hear – his heart and balls clenching simultaneously at the simple sentence.

"Mother of God…this is what I've been waiting for."

The cook's raspy, trembling voice puffed against his throat in a shuddering sigh, and Zoro was lost to the night.

They both knew that it was going to be over embarrassingly quickly, but neither found the will to care in that moment, merely reveling in the feel of the sliding skin, slick with perspiration. Their lips met in a sharp gnash of teeth once more; it wasn't a gentle kiss. Because it was Zoro and Sanji, and from where the pleasure emerged, as did the aggression that was so entwined with the pair.

The swordsman groaned, exhaling sharply and shifting his hands to grip the other's hips, pulling him up slightly, creating enough room to thrust upwards. He focused on slamming into the lithe body, relishing the moans and groans coming from the other. When the sounds went up a notch, and Sanji started grinding down painfully hard, Zoro knew he'd hit the other's prostate, and shifted slightly to continue slamming into it mercilessly.

Zoro choked down a loud grunt when Sanji stiffened beneath him, muscles pulsing around his length as the blonde found his release, tearing the swordsman's own from him almost violently. After a few more hard thrusts, he grunted and came, Sanji slamming down hard, as if worried Zoro was going to pull out to come.

Slumping heavily onto the floor, the remaining waves wringing pleasure from his exhausted form, Zoro closed his eyes, chest heaving and a chill running over his body from to the cool night air hitting his sweat-soaked skin from the window across the galley. Sanji hummed, shifting on top of him, and the swordsman felt lips press against his own. He returned the kiss clumsily, too satisfied to truly complain. Their panting breath was hot against the other's lips and Zoro leaned down for a final kiss, soft and easy, before pulling out, stickiness dampening the cook's inner thighs.

As they sat there, a tangle of limbs and mess of various fluids, Zoro couldn't help but realize that he hadn't truly been home again until this very moment.


	16. I Should Have Kissed You Slowly

**Title**: I Should Have Kissed You Slowly

**Pairing**: Zoro/Sanji

**Rating**: T – for innuendo, language, and almost yaoi.

**A/N**: This piece is set between the Drum Island arc and the Alabasta Arc – only mild spoilers for the former.

* * *

He could see him there under the hazy light of the waning moon – flaxen hair, pale azure eyes.

He could smell him – practically breathe in that scent of stale cigarettes and freshly brewed coffee from nearly ten feet away.

He was like a shadow against the railing of the _Merry_ – protracted lines and sharp angles in that impeccably tailored charcoal suit with the complementing buttercream dress shirt – mercury-hued tie all but disremembered in some other location on the vessel.

He wasn't sure why he had decided to follow the cook out into the night. Maybe the _bushido_ felt that it was a perfect opportunity to instigate a midnight duel. Perhaps there was some unspoken thought that needed to be verbalized. Or maybe the swordsman just wanted to be near him.

The reason didn't truly matter all that much to the olive-haired first mate – not any more than the lap of the waves against the sides of the ship or the soft flapping of the Strawhat flag as the breeze picked up and the night grew darker. All that _did_ matter was that he was there now, leisurely closing the distance between their shadows, near enough to the edge that he could sense the placid spray of the ocean against his cheeks, blinking his eyes at the insignificant tickle.

It wasn't regularly that Zoro thought intensely about anything – mostly because he seldom had the time or vigor to do so. Also, he wasn't particularly proficient at it. He was not what one would call a 'profound' man by any stretch of the imagination – very stabs first, asks questions later kind of fellow. The idea of training with his swords and pumping iron had always been more pleasing than the thought of extended introspection – meditating was about as far as he ever got, and that was more of an art of cleansing the mind of thought.

Deep thought was reserved more for people of that navigator wench's capacity – people who didn't already have things to be doing all day – people who could sit for long hours and just _think_ about their lives without a relentless necessity for action and improvement. Because Zoro was a man of _action_ – he always had been and probably always would be.

When he wasn't training in the crow's nest, he was guzzling alcohol in the ship's hold or meditating in the mikan grove. When he wasn't doing that, he was on night watch duty, eating in the galley, or dead to the world in the men's bunk. There merely were not sufficient hours in the day to be spent _thinking_…

Things had been bizarre between him and the cook lately – ever since the blonde had broken his back on Drum Island. Zoro couldn't remember a time before then that he had ever been so scared for someone else in his life – ever. It had been a rude awakening that had stirred up so many different emotions of fear and doubt, all twirling around in his head as if he had a prayer of figuring them out.

But he had – he _had_ figured it all out. However, in that singular terrifying instant that the pieces had fallen into place and everything had suddenly made sense, he was torn between being immensely impressed with himself that he had discovered it on his own and being unquestionably fucking horrified of what that discovery had meant.

He _wanted_ the man before him – probably almost as much as he wanted to achieve his greatest dream – and that was a categorically petrifying thought to contemplate. He had no idea what could possibly come of it, or if it would even be reciprocated, but he knew that he had to act on it soon or he would go entirely stir crazy over it. They had been dancing around each other for nearly a week now, and it had visibly take its toll on both of them in ways that were anything but advantageous to their daily trades.

In those seven long days and nights he had come to accept that fact with evident certainty – he would stand by idly no longer.

Coming to stand beside the cook, he glanced out over the sea into the never-ending murkiness as he let the silence stretch over them. It was eerily still, as if the whole world was holding its breath about them, waiting on the edge of its seat to witness what might transpire next – it was unnerving, yet thrilling at the same time.

"So…are you actually going to talk about that stick that's been shoved up your ass since Drum Island now?"

The rich tenor of the cook's voice washed over him like silk against his weary ears, indulgent and sinuous in its tone, yet lethargic as it registered his weariness – Zoro forgot to respond. It was only when he picked up on that resigned sigh and sarcastic spur from beside him that he comprehended his mistake.

"Nevermind, talking never has been your strong suit, has it…?"

He couldn't tell if the cook was teasing him, or if he was genuinely disappointed by the swordsman's lack of response. A sudden impulse shot through the bushido in that moment, as if concerned that the cook might decide to up and walk away before he had a chance to take _action_ – which was something he prided himself on, after all. He was astounded it was taking himself so long to do anything – he was the second greatest swordsman in the world for Christ's sake! Why couldn't he just spit these words out?

But for some reason, they wouldn't come out – merely allowing him to open and close his mouth repeatedly without a single issuance of sound. It was both frustrating and embarrassing, and Zoro wasn't sure what to do about it.

So, instead of _thinking_ about it further, he turned abruptly to face that cook, locking onto that one unobscured cerulean eye through the hazy darkness, catching that startled raise of an eyebrow and parting of lips as he drew unsuitably close. He could feel the brush of the cook's dress shirt against the unused buttons of his own black undershirt, the heat from that lithe body seeping through to his own chest, evoking a contradictory shiver from the man before him that probably had nothing to do with the temperature of the evening.

His hands remained by his sides, one gripping the railing with a white-knuckled clutch, the other fisted at his flank – as if he didn't trust them enough to permit them access to this reserved moment between the two men. His words were gruff and raspy as he knocked their foreheads together, pulling a soft gasp from the blonde before him.

"You're absolutely right about that…words are empty, useless. Actions talk far louder anyway…or some shit like that."

He felt before he heard the soft chuckle against his chin, as if the cook found some amusement from those ill-mannered, coarse words, those pale lips twisting slightly into a half-smile in response.

"So, what _exactly_ is it that you need to tell me that you just can't seem to find the words to do so, _Marimo_."

The inquiry ended on an even breathier chuckle at the awkward intimacy of their position, and Zoro couldn't retort, because the cook had somehow managed to generate his own hypnotic pull. His mind seemed to have fled him, because all he was able to do was tilt his head just enough to brush his nose against the softness of one ivory cheek, and lean in just the smallest distance, effectively killing the previous smirk on the blonde's lips as both breaths hitched.

They were so close – he could virtually taste the cook on his tongue, their lips fewer than a millimeter from brushing. He could feel that scorching breath against his mouth, the scratch of that barely-there scruff on the cook's own chin as their lips orbited one another's, now sapphire eyes slipping to half-mast at the proximity. He could feel the tickle of windswept golden strands dancing across the bridge of his nose, the nimble weight of a long-fingered hand resting against the crook of his bare elbow, as if the cook meant to steady himself – or maybe just to touch, to make certain that this was all real…

Zoro was closely holding his breath as he leaned forward at the near-promise of a life-altering motion that would forever change them.

But then something clicked in the posterior of his brain – something that made him practically seasick with unease. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was slowly becoming almost debilitating in its acuity. It was also threatening to ruin this perfect moment with someone who Zoro hoped would allow themselves to become very essential in his life – as if they already weren't.

The ignominious emotion was beginning to truly piss him off as he could feel that breath quicken at his jawline, those pastel eyes gradually opening once more as if sensing the swordsman's inner turmoil. Their noses bumped haphazardly, lips barely sweeping against one another as-

"Luffy, you asshole! Where the fuck did you put my…Oh, nevermind, here it is!"

And just like that the spell was broken – an azure set of eyes snapping open in astonishment, hazel ones sliding closed in infuriated defeat.

Zoro could feel the tension in his jaw as he clenched his teeth securely, as if physically restraining himself from hurriedly closing that now broadening distance before going on a rampage. Even as he bowed his head slightly in resignation, he was still so near that he could feel that burning breath against his cheekbone, gusting forward on an unsatisfied pant as that slender nose bumped once more against his own – almost as if to encourage him back into that previous intimacy. The closeness was almost enough to make him change his mind before he perceived the footsteps that drew ever nearer as a light from the galley filtered outward, piercing the near blackness.

Now, Zoro didn't care one way or the other if that red-headed sea bitch found out about them – in fact, it might do her some good to be knocked down a peg or two – assuming she actually cared about the blonde cook. But he knew that that would kill the man before him, even if the cook wouldn't admit it right then. Zoro knew that it was far too soon to reveal that sort of thing to anyone else in the crew – especially something as intimate as their first kiss…so it would just have to wait.

Knocking their foreheads together in some semblance of an apology, the swordsman grunted softly before frowning deeply and turning away. He didn't want to see that disappointed expression on those perfectly sculpted features. He didn't want to hear that trembling sigh of disappointment from those pale lips. And he most certainly didn't want to be around when the cook cursed himself for letting that happen 'in such a public place where anyone could walk out, and it was absolutely the idiot swordsman's fault for affecting him in such a way that he would overlook that vital point.'

No, Zoro didn't plan to be around when any of that occurred, so he just kept walking until he reached the bathrooms, slamming the door closed and propping a chair against it. Plopping down along the edge of the porcelain tub, he scowled deeply, almost painfully as he slammed his hands against his face in frustration, dragging his calluses along his tired appearance.

The only thought that registered in his brain was one of irritated submission:

"I should have just fucking kissed him…"


	17. Light Up My Night

Torrents of rain fall like ice onto the Adam's wood deck - biting, scratching...stealing my breath.

It soaks us all through to the bone, our joints creaking as the freeze settles into all of the crooks and hollows of our bodies - aching, breaking...stealing our breath.

My hands grasp as tightly as humanly possible to that thick tether that holds our marked sail to the giant mast; this is always the hardest part, but someone has to do it - why not me?

This violent maelstrom of frosty precipitation sloshing onto our vessel feels like winter once more and it's hard to believe that we've just passed one of the warmest summer islands in this legendary Grand Line.

But isn't that what this is all about – this fickle weather; this deadly game that we play with each other's lives? Did any of us really know what we were getting ourselves into when we embarked on this fateful journey to the ends of the world?

I stand here: rooted to my spot on deck, petrified with hypothermia, clinging to this rope, staring into the darkness before me - I am not afraid.

Fear is not an emotion that I have become all too familiar with. Why fear? It isn't as if it will change the outcome at all...

But that's not why I'm calm; that's not why I can breathe just as easily as before...no.

I breathe for you; I am calm for you; I am here, now, always - for you.

But I would never tell you this; you'd probably kick me into the abyss that is this angry sea. Emotions aren't something that you deal with very well - especially from me. But since when have I cared what bothered you...? The answer isn't something that you want to hear.

After all of this is said and done...when the storm has blown past and everyone can breathe easily once more, you and I will probably find ourselves once again in the tangles of an argument - some stupid squabble over something unimportant, as usual. But you'll be blind – as usual...

You won't see the quirk of my lips as you pummel me with those deadly weapons of yours. You won't notice the glow in my eyes when they meet your own - the color of that sea you yearn to find so badly. You won't understand the slight smile in my insults that combat your own. And you most certainly won't find out about this inner poet, blathering on like a woman about how much I need you...want you.

But here – in the rain – I have nothing to hide on my own...because it hides itself in the sheets of water falling upon us and cascading down our faces – gliding down that perfect, porcelain countenance that you hold for everyone to see...

But I see you beneath it all...and you can do nothing to hide that from me. You light up my night like no candle or beacon can fathom. You, there on the upper deck, pulling ropes and lines with our shipwright...you are my lighthouse in the blackness.

But I can never tell you this.


End file.
